


It Takes A District

by MTK4FUN



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: AU In-Panem, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 00:52:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 55,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2793800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MTK4FUN/pseuds/MTK4FUN
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thinking her mother is dying, Katniss Everdeen marries Peeta Mellark to keep her sister out of the Community Home. </p><p>The first two chapters were ORIGINALLY WRITTEN FOR THE 2014 Fandom4LLS and titled IT TAKES A VILLAGE, the story has been renamed and expanded to a multi-chapter fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I see the first dandelion of the spring on the day I realize our mother is dying. She’d caught a mild influenza from a patient but it transformed into something far worse. The patient died and now my mother exhibits the same lethal symptoms.  
I’m twenty. Part of each day I spend hunting, the rest of the time I prepare animal skins for sale. I’m lucky the Peacekeepers like their coats, gloves, and bedcovers lined with fur because they are the main customers for my illegal wares.

My sister Prim is sixteen, blonde, blue-eyed, and rosy-cheeked. She’s already attracting attention from both Merchant and Seam boys alike. In just a few years, once she is done with school, she’ll likely have her choice of suitors.

“What are we going to do?” Prim cries that spring evening after feeding our mother some broth that she promptly vomits back up. “I read about this tea made with wild garlic. But if she can’t even hold down broth…”

“Let’s not worry about it little duck,” I interrupt, reverting to Prim’s childhood nickname. But I’m very worried, terrified in fact.

The loss of our mother will change everything. Once she stops breathing, the Justice Department will be within their legal rights to kick Prim and I out of our childhood home. In Panem houses are only assigned to married couples. The temporary ownership ends when both partners are deceased. 

Adult children, like myself, are turned out to fend for themselves, either to board with another family, or to marry and be assigned a house of their own. 

Minor children without married kin, like my sister, are sent to the Community Home – the source of all of the children reaped in the districts for as long as I can remember. The Capitol negotiated that compromise years ago to prevent a revolution. It is easier for the districts to stomach sending children to The Hunger Games if they don’t have any familial ties.

A loud knock on the door brings Prim and I out of our private terror. I set down the dishcloth and Prim sets aside the dried plate. 

“Not another sick person,” I groan. Prim has been standing in for my mother for weeks now. How is she going to stay awake in school if she spends the evenings tending to patients? 

I open the door to find Mr. Mellark, the baker, and his youngest son Peeta. Someone must be very ill if they walked to the Seam after dark.

Prim appears by my side. “Do you need something? I’m helping my mother now.”

The baker shakes his head. “I want to talk with you two. Might we come in?”

Baffled, I open the door further and point to the sagging sofa. The men sit while Prim and I drag chairs from the dining table to set across from them.

Mr. Mellark clears his throat. “I’ve heard a rumor that your mother is quite sick and may be near death. Is it true?”

My stomach drops. Clearly people are talking if the baker who lives in Town knows my mother is dying. I had hoped Prim and I could keep it secret for as long as possible. 

From the expression on both our faces, he deduces its truth.

“I have a proposition that I think can help the both of you.”

“What is it?” my sister asks. She leans forward in her seat.

The baker looks directly at Prim. “If Katniss will marry my son Peeta, they will be assigned a house. You can move in with them and avoid the Community Home.”

My mouth opens in surprise. I turn to Peeta. Even in the dim light, I see the nervousness in his eyes.

“No.” I halt the conversation before it can go further. I have no desire to marry. And certainly not to someone I hardly know. I have to wonder why Peeta would agree to this? 

But the baker reminds me that we will lose our house at my mother’s death.

I am blunt. “Why do you care?” We have no connection to the baker and his family. Although I sell him squirrels on a regular basis, we aren’t even customers. We can’t afford his prices.

Mr. Mellark appears embarrassed. “I am an old friend of your mother’s from long ago.”

My eyes narrow. “From school?”

“Yes, and after, too.”

He is insistent. “There is no other choice. Otherwise Prim will end up in the Community Home. She has a good chance of getting reaped.”

He’s right about Prim’s odds. She is a pretty girl who could be made up to look like a great beauty for the cameras in that rigged contest. 

But still I question his offer. It makes no sense because he gets nothing in return. Besides, my mother has never mentioned the baker even once in all her talk over the years. 

The baker continues. “You may not know, but my two older sons have married into families with established businesses. Phyl, my oldest, married the grocer’s daughter. Rye, my middle son is training to become a shoemaker. Peeta will take over the bakery and he needs a wife who is a hard worker. My late brother’s wife, Rooba, speaks very highly of you.”

Rooba, the butcher, would well know about my hard work. I’ve sold her some of my largest kills. But there are other hardworking Merchant daughters that will gladly marry Peeta Mellark. He is handsome and will inherit a profitable business.

“Why me?” I persist. “There are plenty of Merchant girls.” 

I keep my eyes on the baker because I am embarrassed to discuss Peeta as if he were a piece of meat to haggle over. 

The baker shifts uncomfortably on the sofa. He begins to speak, but Peeta interrupts him.

“Because I want you Katniss.” His voice is low, but determined.

I am astounded. The only real interaction I’ve had with Peeta was years ago as a child of eleven. He threw me some burnt bread when my family was starving. I’d often wondered why he did it, especially when I later realized he was struck because of it. 

My face grows warm as I consider Peeta’s words. But I don’t believe them. I shake my head dismissively. 

However Peeta continues speaking. “You could help me.”

How could I help Peeta Mellark?

Mr. Mellark gives his son an angry glance as if he’s said too much. Peeta exchanges an equally furious look in response. 

Father and son are silent for a few moments, glaring at each other. 

Finally the baker clears his throat. “We’ve been approached by the Dressers about using Peeta.”

The Dressers run the tailor’s shop in District 12. I know them well because I sell them animal skins. In their early forties and childless, they are in danger of having their home and business confiscated and reassigned if they don’t produce an heir soon. The Justice Department requires all Merchants to have children to ensure a trade’s continuity. 

For years rumors have circulated that desperate Merchant couples sometimes brought in a third person, a young, unattached man, to impregnate the wife. I guess the rumors are true.

“I don’t want Peeta getting involved in this dirty business,” the baker says. “It’s not good to have your flesh and blood residing with other families.”

His eyes flit to Prim for a moment.

Peeta face flushes at his father’s words. 

“You could refuse the Dressers,” I tell Mr. Mellark. Why would he feel obligated to even consider such an offer?

“You’re right,” he agrees, “but there is a great deal of money at stake and my wife, well, she’s not one to pass it up.”

Beside me Prim gasps at his frank admission of his wife’s greed. 

While it makes me sick to think that nasty witch would sell her own son, Peeta Mellark’s problems are not my responsibility.

But now I understand why he is willing to go along with his father’s scheme. He wants a wife to avoid doing business with the Dressers. While there are lewd jokes aplenty about the young men who service the barren women of Twelve, there would be no pleasure involved in that act. Mrs. Dresser is middle-aged and not very attractive. 

Mr. Mellark looks uncomfortable. Peeta stares at a knothole in the wood floor.

“We’ll talk it over and get back to you,” Prim says, sensing the conversation has hit a wall.

As soon as the Mellarks leave Prim claps her hands. “Well, I didn’t expect that. But it could be the solution to our problem.” She sounds relieved.

I give her an icy stare. “Did you forget the part where I marry someone I hardly know?”

Prim laughs. “Peeta is nice, Katniss. He would be good to you. Besides you’ll have to get married sometime, otherwise you’ll have no place to live.”

She is right about Peeta. But I never planned to marry. I expected our mother to live far longer, long enough at least to marry Prim off. Then in the far distant future when our mother breathed her last, I would move out to the woods to live by myself. 

I sigh in frustration. I will do anything to keep my sister out of the Community Home. But I’m not sure about this.

While Prim sleeps, I am awake, restless. I get up to check on our mother. She is warm. I cover her forehead with a cool compress. 

A couple of days pass. My mother remains the same. Prim wakes up screaming twice from dreams that she has been reaped. My heart clenches because time is running out. 

On Gale’s day off from the mines, we go hunting. I want to tell him about the baker’s scheme and get his opinion on the matter. But I don’t because things have changed between us over the past year. Gale has distanced himself from me and I have no idea why. 

For a short time I foolishly suspected he was interested in me romantically. He would lean in close and casually touch me for no reason. However, one day it stopped. He began to treat me like I was his sister. A short time later, he began to see Leevy. They have plans to marry soon.

I bring two squirrels to the bakery that afternoon to sell. Peeta answers the door. “I’ll get my father.” He barely looks at me, before rushing off. I wonder if he is embarrassed because of our meeting the other evening.

The baker arrives a few moments later with a loaf of raisin and nut bread. “Have you given any further thought to our conversation,” he whispers. 

It is all I have thought about. “I’ll do it when my mother….” 

I can’t make myself say it, but the baker gives me a sympathetic nod.

“Good. I’ll send Peeta around to see you tonight.”

“All right.” I leave in a hurry and head back to the Seam, wondering what I’m supposed to say to Peeta.

Later, after we eat, and Prim has fed our mother, even managing to get her to take in the garlic tea concoction, there is a timid knock on the door. 

“I’ll get it. It’s probably Peeta.”

Prim smiles and goes to our mother’s room to give us privacy.

I open the door. Peeta stands there holding a small bag. He hands it to me as he enters. I look inside. Two frosted cookies. “For you and Prim.” 

“Thanks.” 

He sits down on our lumpy sofa. I sit down next to him and place the bag between us. Neither of us speaks.

“How is your mother?” he finally asks.

“The same. It shouldn’t be long now.” 

“Look I’m sorry about all this. I’ll never force you to do anything you don’t want to do.” The words tumble out in a rush.

My cheeks grow warm. “I want to do it,” I say. “Um, marry you.”

“Do you really?” He looks skeptical. 

His response makes me uncomfortable. His father devised this scheme and presented it to my sister and me, surely Peeta should, at the very least, play along. He even said he wants me. Well, he’ll get me. But does he expect it to be real, too? That’s asking too much.

“You’re a terrible liar Katniss.”

I scowl. We are getting off on a bad footing.

“How is this going to work?” I change the subject. “I’m from the Seam and you’re from Town. No one will believe…”

Peeta reaches out to tuck a loose tendril of my hair behind my ear, and I freeze. His calloused fingers gently brush the corner of my ear and I nearly jump off the couch from his touch. I never experienced that sensation with Gale.

He smiles sadly at me. “Isn’t it strange that you would agree to marry me, but I don’t even know what your favorite color is?” 

Favorite color? Why would he want to know that? 

He stares at me expectantly, waiting for an answer.

“Green.” I pause for a moment before asking stiffly, “what’s yours?”

“Orange.”

Orange is a distorted, clownish color, something citizens of the Capitol might favor. He must see the doubt on my face.

“Muted orange, like the sunset,” he explains. 

We sit in silence for a few minutes. 

“I should go,” Peeta says, standing up. He walks to the door and I follow him. He opens it and turns to face me. “It will be all right Katniss. Everything will work out for good.” He lays a palm on one cheek and bends his head and kisses the other cheek. 

He catches my eye, gives me a reassuring smile, and leaves. 

Dumbstruck, I stare after him. I will not fall for Peeta Mellark.

When I lock the door, I go into our mother’s room. Her eyes are closed, and Prim sits by her bedside reading silently. My sister lifts her head from the book. 

“Peeta didn’t stay very long. What did you talk about?”

“Our favorite colors.” 

Prim laughs as I roll my eyes.

“He wants to get to know me,” I explain. “I think he wants us to be real.”

“Of course he does Katniss. You’re lives will be forever intertwined. Did you think you could marry him and not even become friends?”

Her words hit me hard. I’ve only thought of Peeta as a solution to our current problem. I haven’t given any consideration to him as a person who has feelings too. 

Prim’s words echo in my head for days. Peeta stops by every evening after dinner. Prim excuses herself to dose our mother with garlic tea. During Peeta’s visits, we slowly get to know each other. We talk about simple things -- how we spend our day, whether it will be a hot summer, our favorite foods. 

Every evening he kisses me goodbye on my cheek. Slowly, without wanting to, I find myself warming up to Peeta Mellark.

One evening, about a week after he begins his nightly visits, he arrives later than usual, sporting a bruise on his cheek. I wonder at its origin. It wasn’t uncommon for one of the Mellark brothers to come to school with bruises. 

Once I’d overheard some classmates whispering, saying the baker’s wife had a nasty temper and beat her sons. I’d always wondered at the truth of it. They were three brothers who competed in wrestling; surely they got into scuffles with each other. I couldn’t believe any mother could be so cruel. 

But now that I know Peeta’s mother planned to contract him to the Dressers, I’m think my classmates might have been right.

As we sit on the sofa, my hand ghosts over his cheek. “What happened?”

“It’s nothing. I walked into a door.”

“No Peeta, tell me the truth.”

He looks away and stares at the floor. “My mother has finalized plans with the Dressers,” he mumbles. She’ll be most fertile in two weeks.”

My stomach rises into my throat. I think I might vomit. 

“No. I won’t let you.”

“She’s already taken money from them.”

“Well she’ll have to give it back because my husband is not going to be with that woman.”

Peeta’s eyes widen at my words. I had agreed to marry at my mother’s demise and she still lingers on, teetering between life and death. However, his mother’s actions push our wedding forward. 

Standing up, I go to the kitchen. I cut two slices of bread from the loaf on the counter and put them on a plate. I carry it back to the living room.

“You don’t have to do this Katniss,” he says. “Your mother isn’t….” he pauses considering his words, “she may still recover.”

I shake my head. “It’s not likely.” I open the small stove in the corner of the room and toss some coal into the waning fire. 

“We’ll need witnesses then,” Peeta says, understanding that I am serious.

“You’re right. I’ll get Prim.”

“We need someone besides a relative.” He goes to the door and walks out in to the dark night.

At this late hour, I don’t know whom he will find wandering through the Seam. I go into my mother’s room. Prim is asleep in the upholstered chair near to my mother’s bed. 

I shake her awake. “We need you to witness something,” I tell Prim.

“What?”

“Peeta and I are going to have a toasting.”

“Now?” Prim chokes out. She rubs her eyes as if she’s trying to wake from a dream.

“Yes. His mother has taken money from the Dressers. I need to stop it.”

“Are you certain Katniss? I think you should give Mom a few more days.”

This matter has consumed my thoughts ever since the baker appeared on our doorstep with his plan. 

“It’s the solution to all of our problems.” I remind her. But truly I do it to help Prim and Peeta.

“You should change your clothes,” Prim says suddenly. 

My toasting attire consists of a faded blouse and old pants. I consider putting on something else, but I own nothing fancy. Besides Peeta is not dressed up. I would feel foolish. 

I start to answer Prim when I hear Peeta talking to someone in the other room. I leave my mother’s room with Prim at my heels.

Peeta has led Haymitch Abernathy, District Twelve’s only living victor of The Hunger Games into our living room. The man holds a half-full bottle of white liquor. He puts it to his lips and takes a swig.

“What’s this about a toasting?” the man slurs.

I roll my eyes at Peeta.

“It’s late and he was walking right by,” Peeta explains sheepishly.

“He’s drunk,” I point out. “Will he even remember it tomorrow?”

A panicked look crosses Peeta’s face. 

Haymitch guffaws. “I’m not that drunk. Now who’s getting hitched?”

“Peeta and I.” I hold up the plate of bread.

“Of course. He couldn’t very well marry his sister.” He points to Prim.

“That’s my sister.” I say.

“Right.” He takes another swig. “Okay get on with it.”

I have only been to one toasting in my life when I was young. I’m not exactly sure how it goes.

Peeta seems as confused as I am. “I think we toast the bread and feed it to each other,” he says. “I’ve never paid attention because I’m usually setting up the cake.”

Weddings in town are big celebrations. There is food afterwards for the guests who witness the event and even a big cake. Even toastings in the Seam are special with the couple dressing up, and the serving of refreshments. But Haymitch already has his refreshment and Prim is ready for bed. This wedding is the simplest of them all.

Peeta stabs each slice of bread with a fork and hands me one. He opens the door of the stove and we take turns toasting the bread over the coals.

Once both pieces are browned we hold out our forks to each other. I am the first to take a bite. The bread is too hot and burns my mouth. I let out a tiny yelp of pain. 

“Are you all right?” Peeta asks. 

I shrug. 

He blows on the piece I’m holding and then takes a mouthful, chewing it thoughtfully.

Within two minutes both of us have finished our slices of bread. 

Prim claps her hands. “You’re married now.”

Haymitch asks about cake.

“There’s no cake,” I tell him.

“You married the son of a baker and there’s no cake?” 

I’m surprised that he knows Peeta is related to the baker, but maybe the victor frequents the bakery.

“It was sudden,” Peeta says. 

“A toasting to get into her pants?” Haymitch asks. 

Peeta blushes.

Haymitch looks at me. “If you really mean it, be sure to file paperwork at the Justice Department or it’s not legal.”

We both nod. Of course we’ll file. Prim and I will need someplace new to live soon.

The victor gets up and leaves. 

“I’ll sleep on the sofa tonight,” Prim says.

“No,” Peeta says. “I should go.” I wonder if he’s still thinking about Haymitch’s accusation about the hurried toasting.

Prim yawns and goes back to our mother’s room. 

“Thank you for saving me,” Peeta says when she is gone. 

“You saved us too.” A thought occurs. “Do you want me to be with you when you tell your mother.”

Peeta shakes his head vehemently.

“Will she strike you?”

He doesn’t answer and I don’t push. She’s now my mother-in-law. I will need to learn to deal with her.

“You should get some sleep,” Peeta says.

We are standing in the center of the room. Peeta bends down to kiss my cheek, but at the last second I turn my head and his lips are on my mouth. I let out a tiny sigh. My lips part and Peeta takes advantage of the opening. 

His hands are on my shoulders and then on the back of my hair as he pulls me closer. I am stunned by the intense sensations coursing through me. He breaks free of me all too soon, though, and buries his face into my neck. 

“I should go now,” he murmurs. But the sensation of his hot breath on my neck sends shivers down my spine. I don’t want him to go, not yet.

“Come upstairs with me. For just a while.”

He pulls away from me and catches my eyes. I see something in his, something I don’t recognize. 

“Just stay a bit longer,” I plead. “Then you can go.” 

He agrees and I take his hand and lead him upstairs to the bedroom Prim and I share. It used to belong to my parents because it is the largest. But after my father died, my mother insisted that Prim and I take it, and she moved to the tiny bedroom we had shared downstairs.

I have no plans for Peeta in my bedroom, but I find myself not wanting to let him go. Now that he is mine, I want to put him somewhere safe where no one can hurt him again.

Peeta shuts the door behind us. In the moonlit room I pull him onto the bed, the springs groaning loudly beneath us. In the recesses of my mind I know that Prim heard that noise, but I am beyond caring because Peeta’s lips are on mine again. I sigh and give into this pleasure.

We kiss for what seems forever and I feel a fire growing within me. Peeta’s hands roam freely and I find myself instinctively pushing my lower body into his for some relief.

He pulls away, leaving me discomforted. “I really should go,” he groans.

“Stay with me until I fall asleep,” I say. 

“All right.” His voice is husky. We reposition our bodies. I face the window and he curls up behind me and throws an arm over me.

Our breathing slows and I find comfort in his embrace. Eventually I drift off to sleep. 

It is dawn when I wake. I am lying on my back. I reach out to my side. No one is there. Peeta has gone and I am alone.


	2. Chapter 2

I go downstairs. My sister is asleep on the couch. I enter my mother’s room. She is lying in bed with her eyes open.

“How are you mother?” 

She appears more alert than I’ve seen in days. My mother has often spoken of the ways of the dying. Toward the end there is frequently a flare of vigor, as if the body gathers up all of its reserves to take one last stab at life. I suspect that is what is happening now. 

“Hungry,” she murmurs. 

I prepare some bread softened with milk. I help her sit up, propped against the pillow. Carefully I dole out a spoonful from the dish. Her appetite is good, but I feed her slowly to keep the food down.

Whether or not to mention the toasting weights heavy on my mind. I am reluctant to tell her since my decision was motivated by her imminent death. But perhaps she will be comforted to know that Prim will be safe from the reaping bowl. That her daughters will not be homeless when she breathes her last.

“Were there visitors last night?” she asks, when the meal ends. “I heard voices. Or maybe I dreamed them.”

“There was a toasting here last night.”

Her eyes are as big as saucers. “Who?” 

“Peeta Mellark, the baker’s son.”

“No, Katniss.” She starts to cry.

“It’s all right.” I rub her arm gently to comfort her. 

“It’s not.” She trembles. “Life is hard enough. You need someone you love, someone who makes your heart sing, to make things easier.”

My parent’s love story was epic. My mother defied her family by marrying a man from the Seam, by leaving the comfortable life of a Merchant’s daughter to live the hard scrabble life of a Seam wife. When he died in a mine explosion, she nearly went crazy. It took years for her to regain some semblance of living. I guess, to her, my marriage of convenience is a misfortune. 

“Peeta is a good person,” I say repeating Prim’s words after the baker came to our home. “He will be kind to me.”

She wipes her tears away. “Does his family know?”

“Not yet.” I don’t tell her the baker was the one who suggested it. I also leave out the part about the Dressers as well. It will only alarm her.

“Did he spend the night here?” she whispers.

“No,” I mutter, my face growing warm as I remember our heated moments last night.

“There is a tea,” my mother says.

“Nothing happened.” 

“Maybe not yet Katniss, but it will.” She tells me of a plant whose blossoms can be dried and then steeped overnight to make a tea. “Drink it after you come together,” she says. “It will prevent pregnancy until you are ready. But don’t wait too long to conceive. You’re married to a Merchant. You must produce an heir.”

My mother’s frank words make me cringe. A shiver goes down my spine as I think of the Dressers’ plight. Think that I must provide Peeta with a child in the future if he is to keep the bakery.

Her head falls back onto the pillow. “I’m tired.” Her eyes shut and I fear I may be witnessing her death. I hope her last words to me were not those of a recipe to prevent pregnancy.

However her breathing remains strong. I take the empty dish and spoon to the kitchen and leave a note for Prim. I will go to the woods and check my snares. No time to hunt today. Peeta and I need to go to the Justice Building and file paperwork.

When I return from the woods, with two rabbits, Prim has already left for school. I check on my mother. She still sleeps. Her breathing remains steady. I set a glass of water on the table next to her bed. 

I wash up and change my clothes. I own one dress. It’s blue and faded and belonged to my mother when she was young. I haven’t worn it in two years. I put it on and it fits the same, loose at the chest and waist. 

I leave one rabbit behind for our supper. The other stays in my game bag so I can sell it to Sae at the Hob.

Sae asks me why I’m dressed up. I tell her I am off to the Justice Building to be legally wed. 

“Who?” 

“Peeta Mellark.” I see no reason to keep it secret. The word will be out soon enough.

By the time I leave Sae, it’s late morning. I’m hoping that the rush in the bakery has ended. 

I knock at the back door. Peeta answers it. The bruise on his face has turned bright purple. He is wearing his apron, spattered with dried up pieces of dough. My cheeks burn as I remember the feel of his lips on mine, our bodies pressing together. 

A shy smile appears on his face. “Just a minute. I need to tell my Dad I’m going out.”

“Where is your mother?”

“Working the front counter.”

He closes the door and I wait on the back landing for him.

When he opens the door, the apron is removed and his hair is combed. 

“You look very pretty,” he says as we step down the stairs. “I’m sorry I couldn’t dress up, but it would have made my mother suspicious.” He is wearing baker’s garb, loose white pants and a white shirt.

His compliment is generous, but I dismiss it immediately. He is only being polite.

“Will you tell her this afternoon?” I ask, as we walk around the back of the shops and enter the square a good distance from the front window of the bakery. 

His face goes dark. “If we can get a house assigned to us, I will.”

There is no line at the Justice Building as we enter. It takes all of five minutes of paperwork to legally bind us together forever. However, assigning us a house takes much longer. Because Peeta will one day take over complete operation of the bakery we’ll be assigned a temporary residence for now. Later, when his parents are dead, or unable to work at the bakery any longer, we’ll move into their current home above the shop, while his parents will need to move into the residence we’ve been assigned.

We go into an office and sit in front of a desk manned by an official who pulls out a map. He sets it down in front of us. “I have three residences available,” he says. “Which would best suit you?” 

I’m amazed we are given a choice. But perhaps it’s because Peeta is a Merchant and our house will be in Town. 

I have no opinion in the matter as I have never even been inside a home in Town, except for my old school friend Madge Undersee’s residence, and that is rather opulent because her father is the mayor.

Peeta studies the map carefully before making a decision. He selects a house located three blocks from the bakery. 

The man opens a cupboard behind him lined with keys. He pulls out two keys and gives one to each of us. “It’s been empty for nearly a year,” he says. “It’ll be dusty.”

When we leave the Justice Building, Peeta reaches for my hand, lacing his fingers through it. I am self-conscious walking through Town like this, but we’re married now. 

“Let’s see the house before I go back to the bakery.” 

We are quickly there and Peeta opens the door. The official is right; it is dusty. I sneeze several times after entering.

The house is larger than my family’s house in the Seam, but Peeta calls it small. Light streams in the big windows providing a sense of cheerfulness. There are three bedrooms. Peeta claims the largest one as ours. My face goes red when I think that we’ll be sharing a room now.

“Not until you’re ready Katniss,” he says, when he notices my discomfort.

There are two other bedrooms as well, one for Prim, and another for me to use to process the animal skins.

“It’s nice,” I say when we have walked through the entire house and inspected the tiny yard behind it.

Peeta seems pleased that I like his choice. “We can paint the rooms different colors,” he notes. “Maybe green,” he smiles.

“We can bring over our furniture after…” I mean to say when my mother is dead, but something stops me. Her conversation this morning was so normal that I find it hard to believe she will soon be gone. 

Most couples are gifted at their toasting with items to furnish their homes. However because the circumstances surrounding our union are so unusual, we are likely to receive little, if anything in the way of gifts. But I’m a Seam girl; I’m used to doing without.

Peeta locks the door behind us, jiggling the knob to be sure of it. He laces his fingers through mine again as we head back toward the bakery. He kisses my cheek when we get closer. I want to turn my face and let him capture my lips again, hungry for those feeling from last night, but we are standing in the street. People are walking by. “I’ll see you tonight,” he murmurs, before breaking free of my hand.

I hurry back to the Seam. It’s still early. Prim isn’t home from school yet. I check on our mother. She sleeps soundly, snores even. 

After changing my clothes, I walk through our tiny home, studying its contents, trying to figure out how we will move everything to Town. Imagining how it will look in that sunny house. 

Until our mother’s death, I will remain here with Prim. But I’m sure Peeta will be moving into the new house soon. Once he tells his mother about our marriage, he’ll have to leave. I can’t imagine how difficult it will be for him to work with her each day.

I prepare the rabbit for dinner. I make a salad of greens I’d picked in the woods earlier this morning. There is bread a plenty. Peeta has been generous. He has always brought something from the bakery during his nightly visits.

Prim arrives from school and goes to see our mother. 

“Sleeping,” she says, when she comes out of the room. “Has she eaten anything else?” I had written Prim of our mother’s appetite in the note I left behind this morning.

I shake my head.

“Did you and Peeta go to the Justice Building today?” 

“Yes, and we are already assigned a house in Town.” I describe the dwelling to Prim, the size of the rooms, the light that streams in through the windows, the tiny yard. 

A choking sound startles both of us and we jump up from our seats at the dining table to rush to our mother’s side. Prim gets there first pulling our mother into a sitting position so she can better clear her throat. The mucous rattles as she coughs over and over. Finally she is able to clear it. 

“Would you like to eat?” Prim asks.

Our mother agrees and while Prim prepares her meal, I tell her about going to the Justice Building that morning. She asks about the house and I repeat what I’ve already told Prim.

The lines on my mother’s face relax at my words. I realize then that she has been worried about what would happen to Prim and I after her death. Even though she is not happy about my marriage, at least she is thankful that Prim and I will be together.

After she finishes eating my mother closes her eyes. Her breathing changes, and she is asleep quickly. My sister and I leave her to rest, while we eat our dinner. There is a knock at the door and I expect it is Peeta.

Prim smirks as I rush up to answer it. But it is a young miner whose wife is in labor. Prim’s face blanches with fear. She has never delivered a child on her own. But she gathers our mother’s supplies and leaves with the man. 

I put away the remains of our meal, wash the plates and cooking pan, look in on my sleeping mother, all the time waiting for Peeta. It is late. I grow anxious.

Lying on the couch, I doze off. A soft knock wakes me. I go to the door. As soon as Peeta steps in I understand why he is late. I marvel that he showed up at all. 

His face is battered and bruised. He walks stiffly, and I have to wonder at how much damage is hidden by his clothing. 

“What happened?” I gasp. But I know what happened even before he speaks.

“Someone told my mother that we went to the Justice Building today.” 

“You didn’t tell her?”

“I didn’t get the chance. She already knew when I got back to the bakery this afternoon.”

“Who told her?”

Did someone see us there? Did a customer see us entering the house in Town? Only Prim and Haymitch knew. But then I remember that I told Sae, too. Did she pass along the word unknowingly? I look at Peeta’s bruised body and guilt floods me.

“I don’t know how she found out,” Peeta says, angrily. “And does it matter anyway?” 

He’s right. What’s done is done. “Come inside, my mother has some salve that will help with those bruises.”

He lumbers over to the sofa and sits. I retrieve the salve from my mother’s supply cupboard and wet a cloth with warm water. Peeta’s skin must be clean before the salve is applied.

“Take off your shirt.” 

Peeta winces as he raises his arms to pull his shirt over his head. I reach for the hem of the garment to help him. 

I have seen plenty of shirtless men over the years as they sought treatment from my mother, but I have never seen Peeta’s bare skin. It is an oddly intimate moment, until I note the large purple bruise on the left side of his body. I gently run my fingers down his ribs. He nearly jumps off the sofa at my touch. His face conveys an expression of both pleasure and pain. 

“What did she use?” This damage is more than a mere battering of the fists. I am worried that a rib may be broken or cracked.

“A rolling pin.”

My jaw drops. “Where was your father?”

“Conveniently out running an errand.” His tone is sarcastic and it’s clear he’s angry with him as well.

As I wipe his chest clean with the warm cloth and carefully rub salve on his bruises, he tells me that he has already moved his clothing into the new house. 

“My mother threw all my things into the yard.” Peeta chuckles. “Actually she helped me. I don’t know if I could have climbed the stairs.”

How can he find humor in it? I hold back a stream of profanities about Peeta’s mother. Instead I tell him I will give him something for his pain.

Eventually he is settled on the couch, stretched out, his feet hanging off the end of it. I have rubbed salve on the bruises on his torso and his face, and given him a pain-reducing drink made from tree bark. He is sleepy.

Sitting on the floor next to him with his left hand holding mine, I watch his eyelids grow heavy. “Thank you Katniss,” he murmurs, before drifting off.

The fingers of my free hand find his face. His pale lashes that are so long, the curve of his cheek, the line of his nose, the hollow at the base of his neck. I trace the outline of stubble on his jaw and finally work my way up to his lips. Soft and full, slightly chapped. His breath warms my fingers. 

This is the not the wedding night I envisioned, although I know I am not ready for the traditional happenings of such an occasion. But a repeat of the previous evening would have been welcomed. I am eager to learn where those sensations lead.

My head rests on the edge of the sofa near to Peeta’s head and I close my eyes.

Peeta’s groan jolts me awake. It takes a moment to figure out where I am. I blink several times. It is later than I normally sleep.

Light floods the room. “I’m late for work,” Peeta says. He releases my hand and groans yet again as he pulls his body up into a sitting position. 

Why would he care about being late to the bakery after his mother’s beating? 

Stiff from sleeping in such a contorted position, I stretch my body. As I step back, Peeta swings his legs off the sofa and stands. The pain is evidenced in his grimace. 

“Are you sure you can work today?” I wonder that he can even walk back to Town, let alone put in a day at the bakery. 

“I have to Katniss.”

I don’t think he does. He should stay away to teach his mother a lesson. But I hold my tongue and help him pull his shirt over his head.

He goes to the door to leave. I follow him. “I’ll go to the house today and scrub it clean.”

He smiles. “That would be nice. But you don’t have to do it all. I can do some.”

Not with those bruises, I think. 

He kisses me goodbye, a mere peck on my lips. “Thank you for the medicine and everything. I’m sorry about last night. I wanted to make you a cake but I didn’t get a chance.”

I realize he means a toasting cake, like the one the drunken victor had asked for two nights ago.   
This sweet boy was battered because he married me and he’s thinking about a cake? 

“We have a lifetime of cakes ahead of us.”

He plods off as I stand at the door watching. Once he is gone from my sight, I check on my mother, freezing in the doorway for a moment when I don’t hear her raspy lungs. Watching to see if her chest is rising and falling, or if she expired during the night.

But she is still alive, her breathing soft, but steady. I think about going to the woods to check on my snares, but I don’t want to leave my mother alone. I think she might take a turn for the worse.

I wonder when Prim will return. How will she sit through a day of school if she has been up all night delivering a baby?

In the kitchen I ready breakfast when the door bursts open. “It’s a girl,” Prim shouts. She is giddy and joyful, the kind of exuberance that tells of well-earned achievement. She rubs her eyes, blinking a few times. 

“Have some tea,” I call to her. She sits down at the table and describes the birthing.

“Everything went so smoothly Katniss, and I was so worried that something would go wrong.”

“I’m happy for you little duck.” 

She pulls some coins from her pocket and lays them on the table next to her teacup. “Look what I received.”

Her pleasure is evident. I smile at her. It is a good feeling to be paid for your expertise.

Prim yawns. 

“Are you staying home from school then?” 

She shakes her head. “I have a test.” She picks up her cup and takes a sip. A sly smile appears on her face. “Was Peeta here last night?”

The memory of his battered body flashes through my mind and I wince involuntarily.

“What’s wrong?”

“His mother found out and she beat him. Badly.” I tell her about the salve and the pain medicine.

Prim’s mouth forms into a straight line and her cheeks tinge red. My sweet sister rarely gets angry, but she looks like she’s fit to burst. “Is he upstairs sleeping?” 

“No. He went to the bakery to work this morning.”

Her jaw drops. “Why?”

“Because that’s his job,” I explain, not understanding his actions either. He is far more forgiving than I.

Changing the subject, I tell her our mother remains the same. I voice my fear that her recent robustness is the last flicker of her life and that she will soon take a turn for the worse. Prim jumps up. She places her head onto our mother’s chest to listen to her breathing.

I am in awe of my sister. She has seamlessly moved into our mother’s role as healer. I am doubly glad now that my marriage will keep her out of the Community Home. It would truly be a loss for District 12 to lose Prim as a healer. Maybe that was behind the baker’s request, to keep a healer working in the district. 

“Do you think I should stay home with her today?” I ask Prim. I don’t say what I really mean – Do you think this day is her last? Neither of us has spent much time at our mother’s side during her illness. Prim must attend school and I have to hunt. But I have tried to work my activities around my mother, checking in every few hours to see that she is still breathing, getting her something to eat, or helping her to the toilet.

“She’s seems fine right now,” Prim says. “What do you need to do?”

“I was going to clean up the house in Town,” I say. 

“Do it,” Prim says. “I’ll try to sneak out of school after lunch. I don’t know if I can stay awake all day anyway.”

“Be careful.” I don’t want Prim to get in trouble. Schooling is mandatory in District 12, unless a student is seriously ill. 

Prim changes her clothes and leaves. After checking on our mother one last time, I lock up the house and head for Town, patting the key in my pocket. I carry a bucket filled with rags and a jar of cleansing powder, as well as a broom. 

Standing on the street in front of the house, I survey the neighborhood. It is well-tended with flowers planted in front of most of the homes. Merchants have the money for such luxuries; I scoff before remembering that I am now a Merchant’s wife. I suppose I will need to plant flowers as well.

Unlocking the door, I go inside. Dirty as it is, this house is far nicer than any in the Seam. I plan to scrub the kitchen first. Peeta spent the most time in here yesterday, inspecting the tiny stove and oven. I imagine he is eager to christen it. 

The oven is an awful mess. It takes me nearly an hour to wipe it clean. I am proud of my accomplishment, although dark grease stains my hands and arms. The bathroom mirror shows my face has a streak as well. It only smears more when I try to wipe it off.

I give up and finish cleaning the rest of the kitchen, and then sweep the living room floor. A loud knock on the door makes me jump. Did Peeta get a break and stop by? My heart beats a little faster as I go to the door and open it. 

Standing in front of me is Mrs. Mellark. At her side is Delly, a former schoolmate who is now married to Peeta’s brother Rye. Delly is pale and looks like she wishes she were anyplace else. 

How did Peeta’s mother find the house? I am dumbstruck to see her here.

“Well aren’t you going to invite me in?” my mother-in-law says. Her tone is sharp and I clutch the broomstick tightly wanting to crack her across the head with it as I think about Peeta’s bruises.

But I don’t. It will not do Peeta any good if I fight with his mother. Instead, I open the door further, stepping back. She maneuvers her matronly Merchant figure through the doorframe. Delly follows her.

Mrs. Mellark immediately pushes past me and sashays through the house, complaining loudly about each room as soon as she enters it. The kitchen that I was so proud of cleaning is declared a disaster. The window in the master bedroom is too small. The bathroom shower tile is an ugly color.

Delly stands with me in the living room. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “She insisted on seeing the house.”

Mrs. Mellark returns to the living room yelling at me, “This place is a dump.”

Why does she even care about the house? But then I remember that she will live here one day, when Peeta takes over the bakery and we move to the apartment above it.

I take a step back and tighten my hold on the broom handle ready to use it to block her if she tries to assault me. But she has another plan of attack.

She studies me carefully. “So you’re the fool who rescued Peeta and lost us all that money. You’re not very big or even very pretty. He must have really been desperate to take you on, especially with your family’s reputation.” 

Even though I have wiped my face clean of emotion, her comment about my family unconsciously causes me to raise my eyebrows.

A sly grin appears her face. “You don’t know about your family’s reputation, do you?” she smirks. Her tone when she uses the word `family’ is smug. 

I expect her to say something insulting about my mother being a Merchant and my father being from the Seam. But her words are beyond vile.

“Your mother had to seek out lovers to conceive you and your sister. Her husband was infertile.”

She cackles like a witch from a story my mother used to tell Prim and me on stormy autumn nights when we were little. Then without waiting for a reaction she leaves with Delly, slamming the door so hard that the windows rattle.

I sink to the floor astounded. A woman so evil that she would sell her son’s seed, that she would savagely beat him upon hearing of his marriage, surely such a person would be incapable of imparting truth. She has lashed out at me in the most hurtful way. Unlike Peeta, if she battered my body, I would strike her back. Instead she chose to bludgeon my heart by striking at my greatest weakness, my love for my family.

My anger at my mother-in-law is worked out through my cleaning. My muscles ache when I leave the house.

I stumble back to the Seam lugging the broom and bucket filled with dirty rags. I ponder Mrs. Mellark’s words, wondering why she is so hateful toward my mother that she would make up such a terrible lie.

The baker said he had known my mother long ago. Could Mrs. Mellark’s anger stem from a long-ago rivalry with my mother? It sounds far-fetched, but that is the only thing I think it could be. Because of course Prim and I are my father’s daughters.

It makes me sick to think that I am now related to that evil woman. But I remind myself why I consented to the marriage, that I have kept my sister safe, and even saved Peeta as well.

With this thought in mind I enter the house to find my sister sitting at the table thumbing through one of my mother’s healing books. “Katniss,” Prim says, excitedly, lifting her head to grin at me. “You’ll never guess. The garlic tea I made for mother…it’s working. She’s so much better. She just finished eating dinner. I think she’s going to be fine after all.”

I bite my lip hard enough to draw blood. I married to save my sister from the Community Home, and she has figured out a way to save herself.


	3. Chapter 3

“Have you planted any flowers yet?” my mother asks Peeta.

A week has passed since Peeta and I went to the Justice Building to wed. My mother is well enough to be out of her sickbed and sits with us to eat dinner.

Peeta shakes his head. The bruise on his cheek has faded to a dull purple, nearly lavender. “I’m was waiting for Katniss to move in and we could do it together.” 

My mother gives me a piercing glance. “I’m feeling so much better Katniss. I think it’s time you join your husband in your house in Town.”

I feel my mother’s and Peeta’s eyes on me as I focus on my plate. I know they are right, but I find myself unable to budge. Ever since Mrs. Mellark’s bitter taunt, which I have kept to myself, it has become increasingly clear to me that I was too hasty to marry. Prim’s garlic tea has worked a miracle and my mother will likely make a full recovery. 

My sister is safe from the Community Home and thus the reaping bowl. 

But I have married into a family with serious problems. My husband allows his mother to assault him and my father-in-law admits to his wife’s faults but does little or nothing to stop them. My two brother-in-laws have fled, happy to get away from their abusive childhood. 

And now I, likely the strongest of them all have been conscripted to slay this dragon of a mother-in-law, that blows fire on all she fancies and claws everyone who gets in her way.

Peeta has been very understanding of my reluctance to move in with him so far. I imagine he has enjoyed the peace and quiet of the new house and the chance to heal his broken body in private. But like my mother, he is on the mend and is eager to go forward with the changes in his life. 

I have seen him everyday since our union has been made legal, but he returns home alone. However, I can no longer use my mother’s health as an excuse.

“Go home with Peeta tonight,” my mother urges. “You can take some clothing with you and come back tomorrow for the rest.”

“But there isn’t any furniture.” I grasp for any reason to stay away.

“I’ve been able to gather a few things,” Peeta says. “We even have a bed now.”

My face goes beet red. I know he will not expect me to do anything before I am ready, and we have already shared a bed for at least part of a night. But I think back to Peeta’s kisses and ardent caresses and I know I am too weak to hold back for very long.

I take my time helping Prim wash up after dinner, while my mother moves to the sofa and converses pleasantly with Peeta.

Afterwards Prim chases me upstairs to pack. I fill a satchel with clothing. Sadly almost everything I own fits in the sack. I carry it downstairs with me. 

“We should probably get going,” Peeta says when he catches sight of me. 

My mother hugs me and Prim follows her. “I’ll stop by in the morning before I go to the woods,” I tell them before following Peeta outside.

Peeta reaches for the handle of my satchel to carry it. 

“I can do it.” I pull it away from Peeta’s hand.

In the moonlight, I see him frown, but he doesn’t argue.

This is the first time we’ve truly been alone for the past week. We walk in silence along the dirt path that leads to Town. I haven’t had the chance to tell him about his mother’s hurtful insult to my family, partially because we haven’t had much privacy in the past week, but also because I wasn’t ready to talk about it. I’m still not. The insult was so ludicrous that I wonder about his mother’s sanity. Perhaps she is ill. Maybe that’s why she is violent. And I wouldn’t dare bring it up to my mother or Prim. 

“I’m glad you’re coming home with me,” Peeta says. “I’ve been working on the house and I wanted you to see it.”

When did he have time to work on the house? I wonder. He’s been at my house every night since our marriage. Is he going home and staying up past midnight?

“You need your sleep,” I chide him

He smiles at me. “Yes, mother.”

I scowl. “It isn’t funny. Don’t ever call me that.”

His face goes dark. “Sorry.” 

Immediately I feel bad. I know he was making a joke. I am nothing like his mother. I change the subject. “What have you done to the house?”

Peeta jumps at my bait. “I painted a wall in the master bedroom.” 

“Didn’t it hurt your ribs?”

“It only ached a little.”

I frown. He should have been resting, not painting.

We don’t speak again until we are on the narrow paved street where the house stands. Lights are on in the houses we walk past, apparently the electricity stays on in Town, but there is little noise. Families in Town are much quieter than those in the Seam.

“What kind of flowers would you like to plant?” he asks.

I shake my head. I have no time for such nonsense. 

“We can go to the general store and look at the seed packets,” Peeta continues.

For a moment I step outside myself to watch the two of us walk up the short stone path to our front door. Peeta is so hopeful, and happy even, and I am a curmudgeon who does not want this marriage or the life now facing me. I pity my husband in the worst way.

He unlocks the door and we go inside. With the flip of a switch the light is on. I’m ready to make a snarky retort about the electricity in Town versus the Seam when I catch sight of Peeta’s face. 

He is so proud of our house. I look around the room and see a battered armchair in one corner. I follow Peeta into the tiny kitchen. Several dandelions are sitting in a small cup on the counter. Dishes rest on the shelves. A tiny flowered pattern is imprinted around their scalloped edge. 

“Where did you get the plates?” 

Peeta smiles. “They belonged to my paternal grandmother. My mom didn’t like the design so my dad boxed them up for one of us to take when we got married. Phyl and Rye didn’t need them. I guess I got lucky.”

I reach out to pick one up. The design is pretty and even though some of the plates appear to have tiny chips along the edge they are far fancier than the plain brown plates most families in the Seam use.

Peeta opens a drawer and shows me the silverware he’s gathered. Two forks, two blunt knives, and two spoons. One extra large spoon for stirring stews. 

“I got these at the Junk shop. The owner practically gave them to me for free.”

The Junk shop is a strange store, a catchall of merchandise that people no longer need. They sell it to the owner of the shop for a few coins. He in turn re-prices the goods for a profit and offers it for sale. Some goods are so old, I think they predate the Dark Days. It is the Merchant’s equivalent of The Hob. 

Peeta gives me a smile and from the look on his face, I can see he’s seeking my approval. 

“These are very nice.”

He beams. “Come see the wall I painted.”

I follow him down the hall and into the master bedroom. He switches the overhead light on and my eyes immediately fly to the bed in the center of the room. The brown wool blanket on top doesn’t fit. It’s too small, obviously made for a different sized bed. With such a small blanket, we’ll have to sleep close together.

Peeta points to the wall opposite the bed. “Look.”

I turn and my mouth drops open as I see what he’s created. He’s made a forest on the walls of the bedroom. Thick brown tree trunks with sturdy limbs, covered with leafy green foliage. Golden sunlight falls through the leaves. 

“What do you think?” 

I am astounded at his artistry. I walk forward, reaching with my hand to touch the wall. 

“It’s not dry yet,” Peeta says reaching for my arm to pull it back.

“Where did you get the colors?” 

Peeta grins. “I’ve been experimenting with making paints for years. Most of them are mixtures of plants that are boiled down and mixed with oil. The brown comes from the clay soil near the mine entrance.”

This interest of Peeta’s astounds me. It suggests an entire world so different than I know locked away inside of him. 

“I though you might like waking up to the woods each morning. There aren’t nearly as many trees in Town as there are in the Seam. ”

I am dumbfounded that Peeta would go to all this trouble for me.

“It’s beautiful.” 

He beams. “I’m glad you like it.” 

We stand awkwardly for a moment, until Peeta suggests we get ready for sleep. I take my bag into the bathroom and change out of my clothing and into my thin nightgown. I take a few deep breaths before leaving the bathroom and go back to the bedroom. 

Peeta is already under the blanket when I get into the room. He sits up in bed. 

“I can sleep on the floor if you’d like.” 

I shake my head. “No.” 

We have already shared a bed. I turn off the overhead light. In the dark, I inch my way to the bed. He lifts the blanket, and I crawl under it.

I lay on my side with my back facing Peeta. He scoots closer to me and throws an arm over my waist. “Is this all right,” he whispers, his breath tickling my neck. 

“Yes,” I mutter uneasily, remembering the last time we shared a bed.

“Thank you for coming home with me tonight.”

I am glad for the dark that Peeta can’t see my red face, embarrassed that he should be thanking me for doing what I should have done all along – be his wife.

He kisses the back of my neck. Without thinking I let out a tiny sigh. I wait to see if Peeta will kiss me again. Instead he buries his face into my hair and pulls me closer. I close my eyes and surprisingly am soon asleep.

I am used to being the first one up in the morning, but Peeta beats me to it. It is dark when I feel the edge of the bed beside me sink down. I open my eyes. The light in the hallway beyond is on. In the darkened bedroom I see Peeta’s silhouette.

“I have to get to the bakery now. I’ll see you tonight.” He kisses the top of my head, gets up, and leaves. 

As soon as I hear the front door close, I sit up in bed. I need to get up as well. I have a longer walk now to get to the woods. I pull out a pair of pants and a shirt from my bag and dress quickly. 

I empty my bag completely, wondering where Peeta has stored his clothes. There is a tiny closet in the room. I open it to find Peeta’s clothing heaped in a pile on the floor. I throw my clothes on top of his and shut the door. 

Straightening the lone blanket on the bed, I leave the room. In the kitchen, I drink water and eat one of the two rolls Peeta has left behind for me on the counter. I take the other with me. It will be a good breakfast for Prim. 

The cool morning air is refreshing as I walk to the Seam carrying my empty satchel. Already the sun’s pinkish light peeps on the horizon. I walk faster. My family sleeps as I enter the house, to get my game bag. I leave the roll on the counter for Prim, and my empty satchel on the floor near to the sofa. I am frustrated that it is already light now. 

My late start doesn’t make too much difference though. I get a decent haul, a couple of rabbits and two squirrels. It is late morning when I return to my mother’s house. Prim is at school and my mother is convalescing on the sofa. She is studying one of her notebooks filled with healing remedies. 

“I’ll leave the rabbits for our dinner,” I tell my mother after showing her my catch.

My mother shakes her head. “No Katniss, Prim and I need only one rabbit. Take the other for you and Peeta.”

By her words, it’s clear my mother doesn’t want Peeta and me to join them for dinner. 

She continues. “You need to spend time with your husband in your own home.” Her words sting because I know she sees what I am doing. Trying to avoid time alone with Peeta. 

My mother stands and goes to the kitchen cabinet where she keeps her medical supplies. She pulls out a jar filled with a dried plant. “This is the plant I was telling you about,” she says. “Steep it in hot water for fifteen minutes and drink it within twelve hours…”

My cheeks grow warm. I don’t wait for her to continue her explanation. I reach for the jar and shove it in my bag.

“Have you…” 

“No.” The word sounds harsh in my ears.

I go outside and skin and gut the rabbit for my mother’s meal and leave it on the counter wrapped in a clean cloth. 

I go to my room to pack up the rest of my belongings. There isn’t much left that I call my own. I still have room in my bag to carry a couple of small wooden racks I use to stretch animal skins. When I finish, I come downstairs.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I tell my mother.

She is back to the sofa reading. “Be kind to Peeta,” she says as I exit my childhood home.

I sigh in frustration because my mother knows me all too well. I feel like a creature caught in a snare terrified at what is to come. And yet I know that Peeta is kind and gentle and would never knowingly hurt me in any way. 

But recognizing my grouchy feelings doesn’t mean I’m able to turn them off at will. I plod to the Hob to sell the other rabbit. I’ll make stew from the squirrels for our dinner tonight.

I spend the afternoon stretching the tiny squirrel pelts on the small wooden racks I carried from the Seam, laying them flat, and then liberally sprinkling salt on the skins to dry them properly. Even though small, the fur can be used to line hats, or gloves. I set them to dry in the smallest of spare rooms.

The bakery closes its doors at six every evening. Peeta arrives ten minutes later.

Squirrel stew simmers in the pot when he enters the house. 

“Are you here Katniss?” he calls out.

I come out from the spare room, my hair mussed, my thoughts on whether I can move the larger wooden racks from the Seam to Town without openly advertising my illegal business. 

In the recesses of my mind, a memory surfaces of my mother greeting my father after a day of work in the mines. They would come together and embrace. As a child, I was eager for that moment to end because then my father would focus on Prim and me. He’d kiss the top of our heads and ask about our day, as our mother would return to the kitchen to set out our dinner.

But I don’t know how to react to Peeta, how to greet him after our day apart, how to be alone with him. Fortunately I’ve married a man who is not spare of words.

He gives me a shy smile as soon as he sees me. I freeze, but he comes close and lifts my hand to his mouth to kiss it. “Something smells good. What are you making?”

“Squirrel stew,” I mumble.

“Good, because I brought some bread to go with it.” He hands me a loaf of hearty wheat bread. I guess there are some benefits to marrying the baker’s son. 

We have no table, but we hold our bowls in our laps and sit on the floor of the dining area to eat. Neither of us speaks; we concentrate on our meal. But once our initial appetite is sated, Peeta asks me about my day.

I tell him of my morning hunt and the small racks I carried to town inside my bag. I mention the larger racks. He suggests we carry them over after dark. 

“I could leave them at my mother’s house for now.” 

“That might be a good idea, if it’s all right with your mother.”

“I don’t think she’ll mind.” 

He clears his throat. “My mother has requested that you come to work in the bakery with us.”

My jaw drops. “Why?”

Peeta gives me an embarrassed smile. “I am inheriting the business one day, Katniss. You should learn the trade.”

“But I have a trade.” 

“I know. But someday you’ll be more than the bakery assistant’s wife. You don’t need to be there everyday. But maybe one or two days a week just so you can become familiar with the work.”

“I’m not very good in the kitchen.”

“I couldn’t tell by this stew,” he says, rubbing his bread around the bowl to pick up the last of the broth. It’s very tasty.”

My mind races because the last place I want to be is working around Peeta’s mother. I wonder for a moment if Peeta wants me there to act as a buffer between him and his family. I still can’t imagine how he can be civil toward that woman after her beating.

But on the other hand, I know Peeta is right. I need to learn that trade. Because some day in the future Peeta will be in charge and he’ll need someone to help him.

“All right. I’ll do it. When do you want me to start?”

A look of relief crosses Peeta’s face. “Would tomorrow be too soon?”

“That would be fine.” 

After we clean up the kitchen, I wonder how we will spend our first evening alone as husband and wife. 

But Peeta pulls out a deck of cards and teaches me a game that he says he and his brothers often played when they were younger. I am not much of a card player, but he is a good teacher. We sit on the floor of the dining room and play several rounds of the game. At the end we are both laughing. I think Peeta lets me win because I don’t know how I could beat an expert of this game the first time out.

It is still early when Peeta yawns and I realize he must be exhausted. He gets up so early and spends most all of his time standing. Besides his days have been quite long over the past few weeks as he’s been walking to and from the Seam every evening.

“We should probably turn in,” I suggest. 

Peeta puts the cards away. We take our time getting ready for bed, taking turns in the bathroom to shower.

Finally we climb into the bed. Peeta positions himself at my back. I feel his arm go around my waist to pull me closer.

He puts his mouth close to my ear. “I hope you’re not regretting your decision to marry me.”

How does he know? I’ve never said anything to him.

He must interpret my silence as agreeing with his thought. “It’s all right Katniss. I know I wasn’t your first choice.”

Did he think there was someone else? Who?

I pull Peeta’s arm off me, and roll onto my back, leaving him to face me in the dark. I can only see the outline of his head backlit by moonlight coming through the thin curtain that covers the open window. I can’t see his expression.

The dark room emboldens me. “Who did you think I wanted?” 

He touches my hair for a moment. “Gale Hawthorne.”

I snort. “Peeta, I can assure you I that I never wanted to marry Gale.”

He starts to speak but I reach for his face, finding his lips and putting my fingers over them to silence him.

“I never planned to get married at all.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth I regret them. I might as well have told Peeta that I only married him because of the dire circumstances in which I found myself. Although it may be true, even I know it’s hardly the thing to make him feel any better.

“Oh,” Peeta says. The tone in his voice indicates that he doesn’t believe me.

I want to make things better, make him feel better so I reach for his face and pull it toward mine. Peeta seems startled at first, but he quickly turns enthusiastic. He shifts his body so that he is completely covering mine. 

I am reminded of the night of our toasting. All the sensations come rushing back to me. The stirring in my chest, the warmth that spreads across my body, the complete loss of any intelligent thought. So I am greatly disappointed when Peeta pulls away and rolls onto his back next to me. 

“I had a crush on you forever,” Peeta says.

My heart skips a beat. He wasn’t lying when he said he wanted me. 

“The bread…” I begin, but he interrupts.

“Long before that Katniss. I guess since the first day of school.”

“What? When we were five?”

Peeta laughs deeply. The reverberation of his chest makes the bed shake slightly.

He reaches for my hand, pulls it to his mouth and kisses it. “You had on a red plaid dress and your hair was in two braids instead of one.”

I remember that dress. 

Peeta continues. “In music assembly the teacher asked who knew the valley song. Your hand shot right up in the air. She stood you on a stool and had you sing it for us. And I swear, every bird outside the window fell silent.”

“Oh please.” Now I am the one who is laughing. 

“No, it happened. And right when your song ended, I knew I was a goner.”

We lie on our backs in our marital bed holding hands and talking. The darkness around us makes it easier to express our feelings. 

“For years I tried to work up the nerve to talk to you. But you were so aloof and then Gale…”

His voice trails off. I squeeze his hand reassuringly.

“There was never anything between us,” I can honestly say. “Gale is my hunting partner. And he’s been engaged to Leevy for a while.

Peeta sighs dramatically. “Well at least that’s a relief.”

I laugh at his exaggerated response. “Were you that worried?”

“Maybe,” he whispers.

I turn onto my side and kiss his check. “Don’t worry Peeta. You’ve got me now.”

He runs his calloused palm along my cheek. I think he is going to kiss me again, but instead he puts his hand to my waist and gently turns me so my back is pulled into his chest. 

“It’s late. We should get some sleep,” he mumbles into my neck. 

I close my eyes dreading tomorrow. 

It seems like my eyes have shut for only a moment when Peeta shakes me awake. 

“Wake up, we should be getting to the bakery.”

My eyes fly open as I remember my promise to Peeta. 

“It won’t be so bad,” he reassures me. “I’ll keep you by my side in the back.” 

I hope Peeta can make good on that promise.

I dress quickly. 

“Don’t worry about breakfast. We can get something hot from the oven.”

It’s dark as we make our way through the streets and toward the brightly lit square. Peeta reaches for my hand and hurries me along. We enter through the back door. The bakery is still dark. Peeta turns on the light and its bright glow causes me to blink several times. 

“Are your parents still in bed?”

Peeta nods. “They’ll be up soon.”

He hands me one of the big white aprons that hangs over hooks on the door. There is a loop at top that goes over my neck and I can wrap the ties for my waist around two times. 

Peeta laughs at me when I have secured it. “Well at least your clothes will stay clean.”

I have been inside the bakery kitchen in the past. Peeta’s father usually brought me in during the winter when I sold him squirrels. But I never studied the room because I was concentrating on my sale and nervous about catching the wrath of Mrs. Mellark.

Now I have time to look around. Peeta points out the large worktable in the center of the room, the wide shelves that run along the wall where spices and flavoring and other ingredients are displayed in mismatched glass jars. Barrels of flour and sugar sit against another wall, which also has a sink for washing. Along the back wall are two ovens, and a door that opens to a tiny office.

“I need to fire up the ovens,” Peeta says.

He builds a fire in both of them. Once he is sure the fire has sufficiently taken hold, he washes his hands at the sink and pulls out a large mixing bowl from underneath the table. I look down and see that there is a flat section underneath where bowls and pans and trays are stored.

“Are you ready?” Peeta asks. 

I nod. 

“Just watch me then.”

I’m completely confused as Peeta starts dumping flour and yeast and water into the bowl. He adds a pinch of this and a handful of that and I can’t understand how it will turn out if he doesn’t measure anything.

He stirs everything with a wooden spoon and soon has a large batch of dough. He dumps it from the bowl and sets it aside on the table to rise, covering it with a clean cloth he pulls from a basket under the table. I watch as he makes several piles of dough and sets them on the table to rise. 

“Wash your hands,” he tells me. 

He sprinkles a handful of flour on the table and shows me how to knead the dough. Peeta makes quick work of it, punching and pummeling the dough and then shaping it into a loaf that he sets onto the flat pan he’s pulled out from underneath the table. He sprinkles some flour onto my hands and watches as I sink my hands into the sticky mass. 

Peeta makes it look so easy and I am baffled as to what he did. The dough squeezes through my fingers as I move my hands about in it. 

Peeta laughs and I pull my hands from it. 

“Stop playing around or we won’t have any fresh bread when we open the doors,” a voice calls sharply.

I look up. My mother-in-law stands in the kitchen. Her face wears its usual irritated expression. 

Beside me Peeta stiffens. He sets his jaw and his face goes dark as he gets to work.


	4. Chapter 4

“What did you think?” Peeta says as we walk the short distance back to our house.

My mind is a muddle of thoughts. Spending the entire day with Peeta’s mother in such close proximity makes me want to head for the woods and kill something. Her presence overpowers everyone and everything. His father hardly speaks. Mr. Mellark spent a good portion of the day hidden away in the tiny office doing paperwork.

“How do you do it everyday?” 

Peeta’s mouth falls open. “You don’t like the bakery?” He sounds worried.

“No, that’s not it. I like the smells and the kneading and even eating the burned bits.” 

He grins at my comment about the burned pieces. There was nothing wrong with the loaf. It had gotten dark on the edges and Peeta’s mother had thrown a fit, insisting it couldn’t be sold, so Peeta and I broke off chunks and feasted on it throughout the day.

“Your mother is so…” I don’t know what words to use to describe her erratic, bossy behavior. Sweet talking customers in the front of the shop, and then coming into the back to yell at Peeta. Ignoring me completely. 

“I didn’t think she was so bad today,” he mutters. He stops in the middle of the street. “I’m sorry Katniss. You don’t have to go back.”

I shake my head. “No, I need to learn the business. But I can’t go back for the next few days. I have to finish the leather piece I’ve been working on.”

A few months ago, I’d shot a buck while out hunting with Gale. It was winter and we dragged the creature’s body as close to the fence as we dared before gutting and skinning it. We took turns guarding the carcass while the other carried meat back to our families. 

Most of the meat went to the Hawthornes because they had more mouths to feed, but I wanted the skin. It would provide a good sum from the Dressers once I turned it into soft leather. But the process takes time as the fur must be scraped from the skin, and then the skin has to be stretched on a rack and dyed. 

Peeta nods and we don’t talk about it anymore. There is no meal waiting when we arrive home, fortunately we’re both stuffed with bread. We nibble at some stale cheese buns his father gave us before we walked out the door.

“Do you want to play cards again?” he asks. 

As there doesn’t seem to be much else to do, I agree. 

We play the game Peeta taught me the previous evening once, and then he teaches me a new one. But I soon yawn and Peeta suggests we turn in.

I am already in bed when Peeta comes into the bedroom after showering. He opens the window and climbs into bed next to me. I turn onto my side in my usual position. I wait for Peeta’s touch. He puts his arm over my waist and draws me closer. He kisses the back of my neck.

“Good-night Katniss.”

And then his breathing changes; I can tell he is already asleep.

I lie there frustrated that Peeta is such a gentleman. I may not have married for love, but I am not unappreciative of the sensual aspects of our relationship. I know he promised not to do anything that I didn’t want to, but couldn’t he tell from my enthusiasm last night that I want more than a peck on the back of my neck? Do I have to say the actual words to him? I’m not good with words.

The next morning Peeta goes to the bakery alone, while I set off for the woods. I kill two squirrels, one for my mother and Prim, the other for Peeta and myself. Peeta once said his father liked to fry the meat. I think to cook it that way for his dinner tonight.

I return to my mother’s house. After dressing the squirrel for my family’s meal, I finish the last of my work turning the deer hide into soft leather. I rub oil onto the skin and scrape the hide with a blunt blade to work it in better. 

The hide stretches across a wooden rack that I have built in the pen that used to house my sister’s goat Lady. That gentle creature died last year of old age. While we miss her milk, her covered pen has been an excellent hiding place for my business. 

Once the leather dries completely, I’ll bring it to the Dressers. They will pay a handsome sum for this fine leather, dyed a pale color with sumac leaves that were dried and crushed.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The days fall into a pattern. I hunt and prepare my animal skins for sale, joining Peeta at the bakery every third or fourth day. The shop is open every day and Peeta gets little time off; he is free only on Saturday afternoon. Our friendship deepens, but we do no more than kiss. I am frustrated, but too embarrassed to say anything. Has living with me daily, changed Peeta’s mind about wanting me?

My mother-in-law continues to ignore me though, and for that I am grateful. Mr. Mellark gives me friendly and encouraging smiles but it’s clear his wife is in charge. He always defers to her opinion.

One day as Peeta frosts a cake and I cut out sugar cookies with a circular cutter and set them on a baking pan, my mother-in-law comes into the workroom of the bakery followed by Mrs. Dresser.   
The tailor’s wife wheezes as she lumbers past us. 

I keep my head down but as soon as the pair is ensconced in the tiny office, having shut the door behind them, I turn to glance at Peeta. 

“What’s that about?” I whisper.

“I don’t know,” he mouths. He looks desperate to leave the bakery, but as he’s in the middle of decorating a toasting cake he bites his lip and concentrates on the cake.

They’re in the office for a short time when the door is flung open. Mrs. Mellark speaks loudly.

“It’s not my fault my stupid son knocked up a Seam girl and had to marry her.”

My eyes grow big. I glance at Peeta who has clenched his jaw.

Mrs. Dresser furrows her brow. Her eyes are red rimmed as she rushes past us, heading out into the bakery and slamming the door to the shop behind her.

“I’m not pregnant,” I tell my mother-in-law.

She turns toward me and snorts loudly before returning to the front.

I set down the cutter and walk to Peeta’s side. I keep my voice low. “Did you tell her I was pregnant? Is that why she struck you after we went to the Justice Building?”

Anger flashes in his eyes. “Do you think so little of me that I’d disgrace you to save myself? No, Katniss I never told my mother you were pregnant. She came up with that idea on her own.”

I want to say more but the back room of the bakery isn’t the place for this discussion. Neither of us speaks for the remainder of the workday. I think I’ll tell the Dressers the truth when I visit them tomorrow with the deerskin and some rabbit pelts.

Peeta is quiet as we walk home. After our supper of bread and cheese, he says he is tired and wants to sleep instead of playing cards. He is already snoring when I am done with my shower and climb into bed. I lay awake for nearly an hour pondering what happened today in the bakery, and frustrated that Peeta has shut me out instead of talking this matter over with me.

He shakes me awake the next morning, kissing my temple, and bidding me goodbye.

As soon as he is gone, I get up and dress, and head for the woods. I spend a few hours hunting and checking snares, my own and Gale’s.

My snares are empty, but Gale’s lines have snagged two beavers. They look to be dead only a short time. I remove them and put them into my game bag. I shoot a couple of grooslings, a real treat, for dinner. 

I drop off the dead beavers with Hazelle. She smiles when she sees the game. She takes one of the beavers by the tail, feeling its weight.

“He’s going to make a nice stew.” 

“Good pelt, too.” I answer. It’s comforting here with Hazelle. It reminds me of my old life before Gale started acting so strange, before I found myself married to a Merchant. She pours me a cup of herb tea. 

“How do you like living in Town?” 

I haven’t talked to Hazelle since my marriage but it’s clear she’s heard about it. It must be big news in the Seam. It’s not everyday that a Seam girl marries into a Merchant family. 

“It’s okay, but it takes longer to get to the woods.” I want to tell her about the electricity that never shuts down and the flowers that I need to plant, but I don’t want to sound like I’m bragging. But maybe she could answer a question.

I take another sip of tea and put my cup down. “You went to school with Peeta’s mom, right?”

Hazelle gives me a curious look. “Yes. She’s a couple of years younger than me though; she wasn’t in any of my classes.”

I nod. “Do you know if she and my mother were ever friends?” 

Hazelle picks up her cup. “I don’t think they were ever friends, but you’d have to ask your mother about it.” 

She takes a sip and then continues. “I know your mother was close to Maysilee Donner and her twin sister. Maysilee was the female tribute the year Haymitch Abernathy won.”

“I didn’t know.” My poor mother having to lose her friend in such a gruesome manner and then later her husband as well. Only another reason to explain her depressive nature. 

“That was the last year we had to worry about our kids getting reaped.”

I’ve never really understood what happened to change the rules of the reaping in Panem. I’m just glad I never had to worry about being reaped. Worrying that Prim’s name could end up in the bowl of contenders convinced me to marry. If we were both in the reaping bowl and she’d been picked… I think I would have likely taken on The Hunger Games in her stead.

“Why do you ask about your mother-in-law? Is she treating you well?”

I gulp trying hard to stifle a laugh. Well she hasn’t tried to strike me yet I think, but I can’t say that to Hazelle. I pick my words carefully. “It’s about what I expected.”

Hazelle nods. “Well she was probably surprised at the speed of your wedding.”

“Prim and I thought our mother was…”

Hazelle interrupts. “You don’t have to explain. You’re not the first person to make a decision that they later question.”

My eyes open wide in surprise. “I don’t regret it,” I say. “Peeta is very kind.” I think of an example. “He painted the woods onto the bedroom wall.” 

Hazelle smiles. “It sounds like he likes you a lot. Are you happy?”

“I’m getting there.”

“I’m glad. I’ve always thought of you as one of my children and it’s good to see you make a prosperous marriage. At least you’ll never have to worry about going hungry.”

She turns the conversation to Gale and his upcoming wedding. It’s only a week away. “There isn’t much of a budget and Leevy was hoping for a cake,” she hints.

“It will be our gift to Gale and Leevy,” I tell her. I know Peeta will be glad to make one.

I stop by my mother’s house before leaving the Seam to drop off a groosling. I pack up the deerskin and pelts and head for Town.

The tailor’s shop is closer than my home, so I go inside laden with the products of my illegal business, deerskin and pelts in a bag over one shoulder, and a dead groosling in my game bag over the other shoulder.

The door squeaks as I push it open. The shop is small. On one side are shelves that house fabrics. In the center of the room is a large worktable. A sewing machine operated by a foot pedal sits in back, along with a doorway that leads to the Dressers’ living quarters. 

Mrs. Dresser bends over the table pinning a paper pattern to shiny blue material with her short, stubby fingers. In the quiet room, her wheezing is noticeable. Mr. Dresser works at the sewing machine in the back. 

They both turn toward me as I step inside. 

“Hello,” I greet them. “I finished that deerskin I told you about.” 

In fact, Mr. Dresser was the one to suggest that I dye it using crushed sumac leaves rather than tree bark. He said the pale color would be more striking. 

As soon as the words are out of my mouth I sense the tension in the air. Mrs. Dresser is glaring at me. Her husband has left his chair at the sewing machine and has come to stand next to her. 

Seeing the two of them side by side, it is apparent that Mrs. Dresser has aged rapidly over the last few months. She does not look well. Her husband, who is lean and virile, looks at least ten years younger. He appears somber. 

“In light of what’s occurred, I don’t think we can do business with you anymore,” he says.

My mind is reeling. Their business was with Peeta’s mother, not me.

I am in shock, frozen in place. 

“Get out of here now,” Mrs. Dresser shrieks. “Before we call the Peacekeepers on you.”

Call the Peacekeepers? The Dressers would be in as much trouble as me since they are the purchasers for my pelts.

Her face crumples. She looks as if she will cry. 

Mr. Dresser turns to his wife. “Take a break. I’ll make you some tea.”

She nods, and heads into the backroom, but not before glaring at me.

Mr. Dresser takes a step closer. “You should go Katniss.” He directs me to the front door and opens it. I step outside and he follows me out closing the door behind him. I wonder at his actions when he begins to speak.

“Look, I’m sorry about all this. But my wife is distraught that the deal with the Mellarks fell through. We had no idea that Peeta had gotten you pregnant. His mother touted him as unattached, inexperienced even. My wife thought she’d be doing him a favor, that they could help each other.”

I think I may throw up after this conversation. 

He grins and his hand ghosts over my midsection.

Instinctively I jump back.

But he continues speaking. “I’d like to see that deerskin though. Maybe I could meet you at your house. My wife wouldn’t need to know about it.”

A shiver goes down my back at his comment. I have the strangest impression that Mr. Dresser is interested in far more than the deerskin because he is looking at me the same way Cray looks at every single woman that passes his way. 

I had thought to tell the couple that I wasn’t expecting, but after Mr. Dresser’s odd behavior I stay silent. For the first time since I’ve wed, I’m happy to have the title of Peeta’s wife to stand behind. 

“No,” I tell him. “I don’t want to get between you and your wife.” 

“Think about it,” he says, before I turn and rush off.

I walk to the house in shock. The Dressers were the main purchasers of my furs. What am I supposed to do now? I am effectively out of business. 

Although I don’t say anything, Peeta can tell something is wrong by the time we have eaten our dinner of roasted groosling.

“What happened today?” He seems to have regained his voice that was silent yesterday.

I try to dodge his question, but there is no getting around the fact that I am upset. Slowly, Peeta draws the words from me. I tell him about Mrs. Dresser’s threat and her husband’s comment that they will no longer do business with me, although I leave out the part where Mr. Dresser offered to meet with me privately.

Peeta points out that the threat is an idle one because they’d incriminate themselves as well if they were to turn me in. 

“The Peacekeepers are their biggest customers,” I note, encouraged by his comments, even if he is telling me things that I already know.

“We’ll figure it out, Katniss. You can always work more in the bakery.”

Peeta laughs at my sour face and I suddenly understand that this sharing of burdens is an unexpected benefit of my marriage to Peeta. Even if he hasn’t made the problem disappear, I feel better already. Surely the Dresser’s will change their minds. They may not be thinking much about obtaining pelts for clothing as summer approaches, but come the fall and winter they will be in need of such items.

I take Peeta’s hand and lead him to the spare room where I have stored the fur pelts and leather I had planned to sell the Dressers. He is impressed with my goods, especially the leather.

“I’ve never seen such a pale color,” he exclaims, as he runs his hands across it.

I explain that I dyed the skin in a solution made from crushed sumac leaves per Mr. Dresser’s request. 

“Sumac? I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s a plant that grows around District 12,” I tell him. “It has red berries. But there is a poisonous version of the plant as well, however that plant has green or yellow berries. You have to be sure to get the leaves from the proper plant or you can get an awful rash from handling it.”

It seems that our conversation has helped us return to steady footing. We go to bed early and lie on our backs talking in the darkness. Both of us share our emotions so much better when we cannot see the other’s face. 

Peeta’s calloused thumb moves lightly up and down my arm as I tell him that I promised Hazelle a toasting cake for Gale’s and Leevy’s wedding. 

My voice is hesitant and Peeta laughs. “I’ll do it. But I’ll have to make it at home. My father wouldn’t mind, but my mother isn’t so keen on giving away baked goods.”

I am pleased at his generous response. 

Our conversation halts when Peeta leans in and kisses my lips. We kiss for a long time and I hope for even more, but eventually Peeta pulls away claiming that it is late and we need to be getting to sleep. 

I turn onto my side and he wraps himself around me. As I drift off to sleep, I puzzle over the mystery of why our relationship is stalled. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

For the remainder of the week I work in the bakery. Peeta sneaks out a pan, the largest that will fit into our oven at home, to bake the toasting cake for Gale and Leevy. The heavenly aroma fills the house while it cooks.

“I still need to make a cake for you,” he reminds me. 

I shake my head. I have no need for such frivolous things. But the next day, while at Gale’s and Leevy’s toasting, which is held at the house they have been assigned, I begin to think otherwise. Because the toasting is more than a celebration of a marriage, it’s a way for the community to forget the hardships of everyday existence and dream about the possibilities to come, even if it’s only the joining together of a couple. There isn’t much to celebrate in District 12. 

I stand with Prim and my mother and the rest of Gale’s family and watch my former best friend feed toasted bread to his bride. Peeta is unable to attend as the bakery is open and he must work. 

After the brief ceremony, Hazelle and Leevy’s mother set out food for the guests who include Leevy’s large family and some of Gale’s and Leevy’s friends from the mines.

The cake I carried in from Town has a prominent place on the table. The rectangular frosted dessert has two layers of white cake sandwiched by an egg custard filling. The icing is rich and sugary. Leevy’s mother cuts very small slices so that every guest can enjoy a piece. Everyone eats slowly because most of them have never eaten such a fancy delicacy before. 

Once the food is consumed, a few bottles of Ripper’s white liquor appears and many guests imbibe. 

The few pieces of furniture in the house, which include the table and some chairs, are pushed against the wall. Someone breaks out a fiddle and dancing begins. District 12 may be the poorest in Panem but we know how to dance.

I stand off to the side clapping to the rhythm, and watching Gale twirl Leevy about when I overhear a bit of conversation exchanged between Leevy’s sister and her mother. “She better take it easy, or she’ll hurt the child.”

Leevy is expecting? I am not naïve. As the healer’s daughter, I know that many marriages in District 12 are hurried along because the bride is pregnant. Certainly that’s the story my mother-in-law is telling about Peeta and me. 

More people join in the dance. Prim dances with Rory, her cheeks pink with excitement.

Gale’s brother Vick appears by my side. “Want to dance Katniss?” he asks shyly. The boy is only twelve, but already is taller than me, handsome with the Hawthornes’ fine looks.

“All right.” As a married woman whose husband is not in attendance, I’m not so free to join in with the dancing. But Peeta wouldn’t mind me dancing with a twelve-year-old. 

We dance for a while, and then as the music shifts to a livelier tune, partners are changed and I find myself dancing with my best friend.

Gale is exuberantly happy and slightly tipsy. He thanks me for the cake and asks if Peeta is taking care of me. I nod my head, embarrassed that I never told my friend about my sudden marriage. But he doesn’t seem to care, or if he does, he doesn’t mention it.

“Not that you need anyone to take care of you,” he murmurs. “You can do that on your own.”

He’s right, of course. 

“Now that we’re both married, we’ll have to stop hunting together. Leevy’s not so keen on me spending time with you in the woods. I tried to explain that it didn’t matter because you’re my…” his voice stops suddenly and I wonder why he stops at calling me his friend. 

But I don’t think about it any further because I’m hurt by Leevy’s thoughts. What did she think Gale and I were doing in the woods for the last eight years? 

“So maybe you should stay out of the woods on Sundays, for a while at least, so we don’t run into each other. You could spend the day with your husband,” he suggests.

The music changes yet again and I pull away from Gale, leaving the dancing area to stand alongside the wall. I am devastated at his words. I never thought my friend’s marriage would lead to the dissolution of our friendship. 

While I’m standing there, my mother approaches me. 

“I have to leave now. Aster Cowden just went into labor. Would you ask Prim to meet me at her house?” She nods toward Prim who is still dancing with Rory, her long blonde hair swaying in time with the music.

After my mother goes, I move to the table to get something to drink. I pour a ladle of the fruity concoction into a cup, but after the first sip my lips pucker from the alcohol. 

Hazelle who is standing nearby, laughs at my reaction. 

“If you’re thirsty, there’s water in the kitchen.” Her voice slurs a bit and I’m surprised that Hazelle would allow herself to imbibe. But I suppose the marriage of her oldest son who in many ways acts as surrogate father to the family is reason enough.

She leads me into the tiny room that is even smaller than the kitchen of my house in Town. She turns on the tap and lets the water run for a while until it turns clear. She dumps my fruit punch into the sink, rinses my cup, and gets me a cool drink.

I eagerly gulp it down, as it’s gotten warm in the house.

She turns the water on again to give me more. 

As I drink my second cup, Hazelle leans against the counter. 

“Katniss, I’ve always considered you to be one of my children.” 

I nod. I was twelve when Gale and I first began hunting together. I’ve known his family for a long time now. Judging from my sister’s demeanor around Rory, we may even someday be related to the Hawthornes through marriage. 

“After the explosion happened, with all the upheaval that occurred, you proved your strength by helping your mother and sister to survive. I wish I could have helped more.” She looks down at the floor in embarrassment.

“You were ready to give birth Hazelle,” I gently remind her. 

“Samuel would have wanted me to do more though.”

“Why?” Had the Hawthornes and Everdeens been friends before Gale and I met?

“Because you’re family,” she mumbles.

“I didn’t know we were related.” It must be a distant connection because my mother has never mentioned it.

Hazelle give me a curious look. “It’s only you Katniss. Hasn’t your mother ever talked to you about any of this?”

“About what?”

Hazelle’s face goes pale. “Your mother should be telling you this, not me. I need to check on the guests,” she mumbles before hurrying out of the room.

I stand in the kitchen trying to figure out what Hazelle is hinting at. What should my mother be telling me? The words of my mother-in-law suddenly echo in my brain. Your mother had to seek out lovers to conceive you and your sister. Her husband was infertile.

Nausea comes over me and I think I might be sick. It’s time for me to leave this party. I go to find Prim.

She’s still dancing. I wait by the wall and watch. Prim resembles our mother; I resemble our father. Of course we are a family, I reassure myself. Hazelle is drunk.

The music stops for a moment, and I pass along the message from our mother. I say I’m unwell and will go now. 

“I should go too,” Prim says. “I need to help Mom.” 

She says goodbye to Rory and we look for Leevy to give her our best wishes. Normally I would look for Gale, but now, I’m not so sure what we are to each other. 

Prim and I find her in the bedroom showing the room off to her mother and sisters. 

“Thank you for the cake,” she says sweetly before dismissing me and turning back to her family to discuss her decorating plans for the room. 

I walk Prim to the Cowdens’ house and then head for Town alone, lost in my thoughts.


	5. Chapter 5

Peeta is already home when I arrive. He is in the bedroom, adding details to his painting on the wall, a mockingjay sitting in its nest high in a tree. “Did they like the cake?” he asks, looking away from his work.

“It was a big success.” I want to say so much more, but I am numb with disbelief. Gale’s easy dismissal of our friendship and Hazelle’s odd revelation are more than I can handle. 

I sit on the bed and watch Peeta paint. Neither of us is hungry for dinner. Peeta claims to have been nibbling on bread all day. My appetite is gone, replaced by bewilderment. 

I avoid all topics of possible controversy, which includes his family, my livelihood, and our lack of a physical relationship. Instead we talk about sundry household things, when to do the laundry, how often the bathroom really needs to be cleaned, and whether Peeta should add another squirrel to the painting on the wall.

Loud pounding on the door interrupts our conversation. In my mother’s house loud knocks were frequent because the relatives of the sick were often frantic with worry. But I can think of no good reason why someone would be rapping furiously at my door in Town.

Peeta sets his paintbrush down and goes to answer it. I follow at his heels.

It’s Cray, the Head Peacekeeper of District 12. He has two other Peacekeepers by his side. 

My heart freezes. Immediately I think the Dressers have called the Peacekeepers on me. I reach for Peeta’s hand and hold it tight. Animal skins are stretched across racks in the spare room. The deerskin is lying on the floor. If they search the house, I’ll be arrested.

But Cray addresses Peeta. “Are you Peeta Mellark?”

“Yes.” Peeta rubs his free hand over the back of his neck.

Cray is solemn. “Mrs. Dresser, the tailor’s wife, died this afternoon under mysterious circumstances. You’re wanted for questioning.”

My jaw drops. Mrs. Dresser’s dead? What happened? And then I suddenly realize that Cray is here to take my husband away.

“No,” I shout. 

Cray steps back for a moment stunned, and then gives me a curious look, as if he just noticed that I am standing next to Peeta. 

“What are you doing here girl?” 

While I’m sure Cray recognizes me as a hunter – Gale and I have been selling him game for years – I doubt he’s aware of the full extent of my law-breaking activities. But I know for a fact that the gloves he wears in the winter are lined with fur from a rabbit I shot.

“This is my wife Katniss.” Peeta throws me a warning glance.

“You married a woman from the Seam?” Cray is astounded. “I thought you people didn’t like to mix it up.”

Peeta flushes, and ignores Cray’s jab. “I was at work in the bakery all day and then I came home. I never saw Mrs. Dresser.”

“We’ll talk about it when we get to the Justice Building. You need to come with me now.”

Peeta turns to me grimly. “I’ll be back soon.”

“I’m going with you.” I am insistent. 

“No Katniss.” Although he pleads, there is no way I am allowing Peacekeepers to lead Peeta away for questioning. Nothing good can come from this.

“It’s all right if she comes along.” Cray glares at me. As long as you don’t interfere,” he adds.

We lock up the house. The two Peacekeepers walk beside Peeta. I walk behind them alongside Cray. My mind is racing as I try to figure out what has happened.

Why would they question Peeta? His only connection to the Dressers is the agreement that his mother made with them. Those types of agreements are frowned on by the Justice Department. They don’t so much care about how a Merchant family obtains an heir; they just don’t like it when money changes hands between individuals when they are unable to get a cut of it. And a lot of money is exchanged in fertility contracts. 

“Been married long girl?” Cray interrupts my thoughts.

“A month.”

“Knocked up, were you?” 

I shake my head furiously. I am angry at his crude comment and offended by the lecherous look in his eyes.

Unfortunately Peeta is in no position to defend me now as he walks ahead of us under guard, and I am not foolish enough to pick a fight over it.

Once we arrive, I am told to wait on a bench in the hallway, while Peeta is taken inside a closed room. He looks nervous and I throw him a reassuring glance before the door is shut behind him.

I sit on the bench near to the office of the Peacekeepers. The building is empty. Not much happens in District 12 on a Sunday evening. It’s late, past bedtime for bakers and hunters, and still Peeta is inside.

I lie down on the bench and fall asleep. I’m not sure what time it is when Peeta shakes me awake. “We can go now.” 

“Remember, we can make things difficult,” Cray threatens as I sit up on the bench. He catches my eye and winks. 

A shiver runs down my back at his words. Make things difficult for Peeta? How?

Peeta reaches for my arm and pulls me from the building. He walks quickly and I hurry to keep up with his strides.

“What…” I begin, but he walks even faster.

“We’ll talk at home.” His voice is low. He looks back over his shoulder to see if we are being followed.

Once we are inside the house, Peeta locks the door.

“It’s late.” He goes into the bedroom to put away his painting supplies.

“What’s going on?” I ask again when he doesn’t voluntarily explain.

He waits until everything is cleaned up before speaking. We sit on the bed and face each other. “The tailor has accused me of poisoning his wife.”

“That’s crazy.”

Peeta nods. “He purchased a loaf of bread early this morning from the bakery. He says that his wife stopped breathing after eating a slice and soon died.”

“She could have died for any reason. She was already having breathing problems. Why is he blaming you? Why blame anyone?”

Peeta shakes his head. “I know they were angry about us marrying and breaking the contract.” His cheeks go red as he speaks. “Maybe he’s vengeful and wants to lash out at someone for his loss.”

It doesn’t make sense though. With the death of his wife, the tailor is in a better position than he was in previously. If he marries quickly, especially to a much younger woman, he’ll be able to keep his business far longer at least until the new wife is past childbearing years. 

“Did you tell Cray about the contract your mother made with them?”

Peeta nods. “Yes, I thought it would point out why he might have a grudge against me. I didn’t mention that you did business with them as well.”

“Cray may not know the details, but he’s no fool,” I tell Peeta. “He knows the Dressers get their furs from someone in the district.”

Peeta reaches for my hand and squeezes it reassuringly. “Well, they let me go after questioning. It must have been obvious that they had no evidence but a grief-stricken man’s accusation. Don’t worry about it, Katniss.”

We ready ourselves for bed. Peeta kisses the back of my neck as we settle into our usual sleeping positions. 

He falls asleep quickly, but I am awake a long time pondering the day. Peeta’s cross-examination by the Peacekeepers weighs heavy on my mind because I’d never known them to treat anyone in District 12 so easily. But perhaps they are kinder to Merchants than to people in the Seam. 

The seriousness of the matter pushes aside the concerns from this afternoon. But eventually my thoughts drift to the happenings at the wedding party. In the comfort of my bed, Hazelle’s curious revelation seems ludicrous. I conclude it was likely a simple misunderstanding on my part in interpreting the words of a woman who had too much to drink. However, I make a mental note to ask my mother about it when I get the chance. 

As for Gale’s easy dismissal of our friendship, I attribute it to poor wording on his part. We have been friends for far too long to let a jealous bride change our relationship. 

Finally after many dark thoughts I fall into a restless sleep.

I go to work at the bakery with Peeta the next day. Even working in the back, we hear the customers talk. It is said that the tailor’s shop is closed and Mr. Dresser is making arrangements for his wife’s burial. 

Throughout the day more gossip is overheard as customers speculate who Mr. Dresser will marry, for surely he must find a wife quickly if he wants to keep his business. Most blame his wife for their infertility problems. One meddlesome customer spouts the theory that she committed suicide to save her husband the loss of his livelihood.

Mr. Mellark, who is working in the back with us for a change, grimaces. He meets both Peeta’s and my eyes somberly.

Apparently no one is aware that Mr. Dresser was the infertile one in that pairing. It won’t matter who he marries because he’ll never produce an heir. However if he found a very young wife he’d likely be able to retire from the business by the time she reached the end of her childbearing years. 

Out of all the gossip we hear that day, no one mentions that Peeta was called in for questioning. For that I’m grateful that Cray came to our door after dark. If it had happened in the middle of the day everyone would know. Peeta doesn’t mention it to his parents, neither do I.

The next few days pass quickly. I push my fears from my mind. 

Shops are closed for the afternoon funeral of the tailor’s wife, which is held a week after her death. It is unusual that it would be delayed, but rumor has it that Mr. Dresser insisted that her body be examined carefully to determine her cause of death. I wonder if he’s accused anyone else of her murder. Have other Merchants been questioned? 

I have no desire to attend her burial. Mrs. Mellark appears reluctant to close the bakery, but her husband reminds her in front of both Peeta and myself that as fellow Merchants we are obliged to be present at the event.

Mr. Dresser appears distraught in the District 12 graveyard. We stand in the Merchant section of that place, where the grass is tended and carved stones mark the spot where the dead rest. The other side, where residents of the Seam sleep is bare. Wooden sticks mark their final home.

Even though it is a warm spring day, a shiver runs down my back as I stand in this melancholy location. I think of my father, whose body was blown into tiny bits and never found.

As if he understands my sorrowful thoughts, Peeta wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me close to his side. I am grateful for his comfort at this moment.

A few people tell stories about Mrs. Dresser in her youth. She is distantly related to some of the shopkeepers, but apparently all her close relatives have already passed. A few songs are sung and the keeper of the graveyard, a tall, thin, grim man named Letum O’Mally begins to fill in the hole where the wooden casket has been laid. 

Afterwards, Mr. Dresser opens the tailor shop for well-wishers. It is customary in District 12 for people to visit and bring food to the bereaved. We do not visit his shop, however; Mrs. Mellark is insistent that we reopen the bakery.

“People will need to purchase baked goods to bring to him,” she says.

She’s right, as customers flood the bakery and buy out all of the cakes and pastries on hand.

I wonder that a single man would be in need of so much food, but I stay silent. 

The bakery closes early as soon as the display case is sold out. We are all in the back room cleaning up and preparing for the next day’s baking when Peeta’s brother Rye and his wife Delly stop by.

“We went to the tailor’s shop to pay our respects,” Rye says. “But we had to leave. He’s thrown all of the baked goods people brought into the square. He’s telling everyone that his wife died from poisoning and all she ate that day was bread from the bakery.” 

I look to Peeta and see a flash of anger in his eyes.

“Do people believe him?” Mrs. Mellark asks nervously. She goes to the front window and peers across the square in the direction of the tailor’s shop. 

Delly shakes her head. “I don’t think so.” She bites her lip.

Rye speaks up. “He’s very upset though. It wouldn’t surprise me if he goes to the Justice Building and makes charges.”

“They wouldn’t take it seriously,” Mrs. Mellark counters.

“They already have,” Peeta speaks up. Everyone turns to look at him. “I was questioned by the Peacekeepers about it the evening she died.”

“Why didn’t you tell us about this son?” Mr. Mellark asks.

It’s all I can do not to snort. Why would Peeta tell his parents anything? They are not supportive.

An uncomfortable tension descends over the room. From the corner of my eye, I see Mrs. Mellark’s face grow red. Her fists ball up. I step closer to Peeta, catch her eye, and glare at her. I mentally dare her to attempt to strike him. 

“He singled me out for the crime, not you,” Peeta says bitterly.

A pained expression comes over his father’s face.

“Well if they let you go, then they don’t suspect you,” Mrs. Mellark says. Her odd wording sounds as if she believes Peeta has poisoned the woman.

“They said tests were being conducted,” Peeta explains. “I may be called back in if something shows up.”

A wave of fear washes over me. I look to Peeta. He never told me that. He reaches for my hand and squeezes it. His mother’s face grows red.

“Look, let’s not worry about something that will likely never happen,” Mr. Mellark says. “Why don’t you two go home,” he tells Peeta and me. “I’ll finish up in here.”

We take off our aprons and leave, along with Rye and Delly. 

“Was Phyl there as well?” Peeta asks. 

Rye nods. “He and Beryl left as soon as the tailor began his rant. He doesn’t want the grocery to lose business over this connection.”

Peeta snorts. “That sounds just like mom’s little pet.”

I glance at Peeta. I had no idea about his ill feelings toward his oldest brother.

He waves to his brother and Delly as they turn off into the street where their home is located. 

“Why didn’t you tell me about the testing of her body?” I ask Peeta as we walk home.

“You’d only worry. Just like you’re doing now.”

I purse my lips into a pout, and Peeta shakes his head at me, giving me a tiny smile. “It won’t amount to anything Katniss. You’ll see.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next morning, I head for the woods. I haven’t been hunting ever since the Dressers informed me that they weren’t interested in buying my animal skins. I get a squirrel and a rabbit, before climbing a tree, sitting on a limb and leaning back staring off into space.

I’ve always though that the Merchants had an easier existence than the residents of the Seam. They had money and never went hungry. But after living in Town for over a month now, I have my doubts. Tying a couple’s livelihood to their fertility is wrong. At least in the Seam no one is in danger of losing their job if they don’t have children.

That thought leads to Hazelle’s odd statement at the wedding regarding my parents. I’d put it out of my mind completely this past week. I climb down from the tree determined to get to the bottom of her comment. I hike back to the Seam and catch my mother at home. She sits at the dining table making bandages by cutting strips of various sizes from a clean, old sheet and rolling them up.

“Which would you like?” I hold up the rabbit and the squirrel.

“It doesn’t matter,” she says. I give her the rabbit because Peeta likes squirrel stew.

She sets her work aside to make me some tea. She updates me on Prim while the water heats. Tells me about her growing flirtation with Rory, compliments Peeta’s wedding cake for Gale and Leevy, and tells me that Aster Cowden had a plump baby girl after a labor lasting nearly 24 hours.

I tell her about Mrs. Dresser’s funeral, since she appears to have already heard about her death. I repeat the gossip regarding Mr. Dresser’s need to marry to keep his business.

We both sit at the table with our tea. “Did you ever have any problems with fertility?” I ask.

She looks startled. “Are you trying to get pregnant Katniss?”

“No.” I don’t want to talk to her about myself, tell her I’m still a virgin and that Peeta appears to be satisfied with keeping me that way.

“I was curious, that’s all. You and Dad were married for six years before I was born.”

“I was.” She gives a small sad smile. “I don’t think you’ll need to worry though. Peeta comes from very hearty stock. The Mellarks seem to have no problems in that area.”

My cheeks turn pink. 

My mother glances at me suddenly. “Is your mother-in-law pressuring you for a baby?”

I snort. “No.” If Peeta’s mother could find a way to annul our marriage, she would probably do it. “Actually she thinks I’m pregnant already.”

My mother looks down. “Peeta loves you very much Katniss. He told me about the circumstances of your wedding.”

My jaw drops. When did this conversation take place? 

“I’m sure Peeta will wait until you both want to start a family.”

“Is that how it happened with you and Dad?”

It is my mother’s turn to blush. “Something like that,” she says. “Your Dad wanted to be a father the day after the wedding. He loved children, you and Prim especially.” She gets a far off look in her eyes.

“Then why did you wait so long?”

My mother doesn’t say anything for a moment. 

I decide to ask her straight out. “Hazelle said something odd to me at Gale’s wedding that I wanted to ask you about.”

My mother turns her head abruptly and stares at me. Her eyes resemble that of prey in that terrified moment just before a kill, when they realize their comfortable life is about to end.

“Am I related to Gale’s family?” The question sounds insane in my ears. I think my mother will burst out laughing.

Instead, her hands drop to her lap as she wrings them furiously. She doesn’t answer and after a few seconds my stomach drops because I know my question was the kill shot. Her eyes tear up and her face gets that pinched look she had for months after my father died.

I panic for a moment thinking she is reverting back to her former state when she sighs loudly.

“I didn’t plan to ever say anything to you. Everyone involved agreed to keep it secret.” A furrow appears on her forehead. “But it’s better that you hear it from me.”

My throat grows tight, constricting my breathing. I have a strange feeling I know what she’s going to say.

“I tried to get pregnant for years, but nothing happened. Having children was your father’s greatest wish and I desperately wanted to give them to him. I had some jewelry that my parents had given me when I was young. I sold it and used the money to get myself tested from a doctor who worked in Town.”

I lean forward in my chair caught up in my mother’s story. 

“I was fertile, it seems. Your father wasn’t.”

So my mother-in-law was right. I think I may throw up. 

“You sought out lovers to make me and Prim?” The words catch in my throat.

My mother shakes her head. “Not lovers. I sought out fertile men who were willing to provide the necessary ingredient to make a child.”

“And you slept with them,” I accuse her. 

My mother shakes her head furiously. “I didn’t.”

“Well isn’t that how you make a baby?” 

“There’s another way,” my mother explains. “If a man’s seed is collected, it can be manually placed inside a woman with a syringe to create a child.”

My eyes narrow. “I don’t understand.” I think of the contract Mrs. Mellark made with the Dressers. It was my understanding that Peeta was expected to have relations with Mrs. Dresser to make a child. Was I wrong?

“Is that what happens in those fertility contracts the Merchants make?” I don’t want to say more because I don’t know what Peeta has told my mother about our marriage, if he mentioned the fertility contract and how I put a stop to it.

My mother snorts. “No. I’ve always thought that the women who were involved in those arrangements were simply looking for an excuse to sleep with someone other than their husbands. Some young, attractive Merchant.

My eyes widen. 

“But I can’t fault them entirely. There was a doctor in Twelve, the one I visited so many years ago, that strongly discouraged using the syringe method.

“Why?”

She scowls. “He wanted to impregnate the women himself.”

The thought makes me sick.

My mother begins to explain the mechanics of the process, but I put my hands over my ears because I don’t want to hear it. 

It dawns on me that my mother has redirected my query completely. When I lower my hands I steer the conversation back. “Who is my father?”

My mother sighs. “Samuel Hawthorne.” 

I raise my hand to my mouth in shock, my mind reeling. Gale, Rory, Vick, Posy, they are all my half siblings. Gale has to know. It would explain his odd behavior over the past few months.

“Hazelle agreed to this?” I am astounded.

My mother nods. “Yes. She was quite supportive, in fact.”

“And Prim, too?”

“No. Prim has a different father. But his wife too, was fully aware and gave her consent.”

“Who was it?”

My mother shakes her head. “I’d rather talk to Prim about it first before I tell you.”

I am dumbfounded. How could my father not be my father? He taught me to hunt, to use a bow and arrow, to sing. How could we not be related? 

It’s as if my mother can read my mind because she immediately tells me that even if we’re not related by blood, my father loved both Prim and me as if we were his own. “You were very much his daughters.”

“And Dad went along with all this?” It is too much to process.

My mother tears up again. “I never told him,” she admits. “And I asked everyone to keep it secret. As far I as I know no one involved did either.”

I glare at her. “How could you keep it from him?” 

“Katniss, he would have been devastated to learn of his infertility.”

“But you lied about something so important.”

“When you love someone you’ll do whatever it takes to protect them.”

I roll my eyes. No wonder my mother was so distraught when my father died. She was likely suffering from the worst kind of guilt. Is that why she turned away from Prim and I? Because we reminded her about her lies to our father?

“Please don’t tell Prim,” my mother calls after me as I storm out of her house. “Let me talk to her first.”

I desperately try to sort out what I’ve heard as I make my way to Town. If this was supposed to be such a big secret, how did my mother-in-law know?

I am shaking by the time I get to my house. My eyes are filled with tears. Delly stands outside my front door pale as a ghost. She takes one look at me in my crazed state and hugs me.

“I guess you heard then?”

“Heard what?”

“Peeta’s under arrest for the murder of the tailor’s wife.”

 

Author’s Warning: I am NOT a medical professional. All information in this story regarding the “syringe” method of impregnation (or “turkey baster” method as it is also called) is gleaned solely from Internet sources.


	6. Chapter 6

My mouth flies open. I freeze in place. If it weren’t for Delly’s arms around me I think I would topple to the ground.

“Let’s go inside and sit down.”

Numbly, I hand her my key and she unlocks the door.

She pushes me toward the battered armchair in the living room. I drop into it and set my game bag onto the floor. The room spins.

“I’ll get you some water.” Delly rushes to the kitchen. She returns with a mug.

I drink it quickly and set the mug on the floor beside the chair.

“You didn’t know?” Delly questions, likely wondering why I was in such a state at my own front door.

“No. What happened?”

“Peacekeepers came for Peeta while he was at the bakery. They said the results from the Capitol had arrived. The bread that Mrs. Dresser brought from the bakery contained poison.”

The leftover bread had been sent all the way to the Capitol for testing! My heart drops. How is Peeta going to prove his innocence?

For a moment I think of my mother-in-law. She works the front counter. Could she be the killer? But then I realize how crazy that sounds. What would motivate her to do such a thing? If she wished for anyone’s death, it would likely be mine. I was the one who married Peeta forcing her to end the contract and lose the money.

“They’ve taken Peeta to the Justice Building,” Delly continues. “Rye sent me here to find you. We weren’t sure if you were at home or in the woods.” Her voice lowers as she mentions my illegal actions.

She reaches for my hand. “Come with me to the bakery. The family is having a meeting about it.”

“A meeting about what?” I am sure Peeta is lost to us. Maybe it’s because I come from the Seam, but as far as I’m concerned nothing good can ever come from the Capitol getting involved in this matter.

I shake my head. I have no desire to meet with Peeta’s family. 

“You’re a Mellark now,” Delly says firmly. 

Mellark. Is that who I am? Well, I’m certainly not an Everdeen, I think. A frenzied feeling washes over me. I have no idea how to be a Hawthorne. If I ever met my father Samuel, I certainly have no memory of it.

Taking a deep breath, I decide to go with Delly. At the very least, maybe I’ll learn more about what has happened. I pick up my game bag. I might as well give my father-in-law the squirrel I shot for Peeta’s dinner. My husband won’t be eating it tonight.

The bakery is closed when we arrive, although it isn’t closing time yet. I climb the stairs to the apartment above the shop where my in-laws live. Even though I’ve been working at the bakery for a while, I’ve never been invited into the family’s living quarters. I’m amazed at its spaciousness. No wonder Peeta called our house small.

The living room is open with a large sofa, several armchairs, and a television. The kitchen is expansive and open to the living area. A big wooden table with chairs placed around it is near to the kitchen. An arched opening leads to a hallway, where I assume the bedrooms are located. 

My in-laws sit at the table with Rye and Phyl. Phyl’s wife Beryl, however, appears to have stayed away. They are talking quietly when Delly and I enter the room. 

Delly goes to Rye. He reaches for her hand in a consoling gesture that reminds me so much of Peeta that a stabbing pain pierces me. I suddenly realize that Peeta has been taken from me. I gasp loudly, choking back tears. Peeta’s family stares at me.

Mortified I sit as far from the others at the end of the table.

“You don’t have to sit down there,” Mr. Mellark says. 

I get up and move one seat closer. 

The conversation continues. It turns into an argument as everyone tries to figure out what their next step should be. Mrs. Mellark is convinced that a financial bribe might sway Cray to let Peeta go.

Peeta’s father isn’t so sure. “If the Capitol is involved in any way, we’re past the point of bribing the Head Peacekeeper.”

“What happens if they find him guilty?” Rye asks.

“Probably death by hanging,” Phyl says gruffly.

The table is silent, as everyone ponders the situation. I never wanted to get married, and if I could have waived it away after my mother recovered, I would have. But over the past weeks I have grown closer to Peeta. He may not be my lover, but he has gotten under my skin. I care for him. I cannot sit by and let him die for a crime he didn’t commit.

Mr. Mellark clears his throat. “I think Katniss and I should go talk to Cray.”

“What good will that do?” my mother-in-law snaps.

Her husband’s eyes grow black with fury. “Because I’m Peeta’s father and Katniss is his wife. We need to be apprised of what the hell is going on.”

I have never witnessed my father-in-law’s anger and it’s interesting to see his wife flinch, her body moving back in her chair. It is almost as if she expects to be struck.

Judging from the surprised look on the faces of Peeta’s brothers, this is a rarely seen side of their father they witness.

No one says anything for a moment. But then Delly speaks up. “We can meet again after we know more.”

Rye looks to her and nods, and the pair stands to leave. Phyl gets up as well.

“Well you boys better hope your brother is let off,” Mrs. Mellark says. “Otherwise one of you is going to have to step in and take over the bakery. I don’t think your father and I can work another eighteen years until Peeta’s and Katniss’ child is old enough to take charge.”

My stomach drops as my mother-in-law speaks. Why does she persist in thinking I am expecting? I’ve already told her I’m not pregnant.

I am ready to correct her again when the full implication of the situation at hand hits me. Played out to the worst scenario that Peeta is executed, there will be no heir to take over the bakery. Both Phyl and Rye have married women who are direct heirs to a business. If they were to leave their wives’ families’ business to return to the bakery, their wives’ parents would lose their business. In this scenario one family of the three would be the loser, and it will likely be the Mellarks.

But if I were to give birth to Peeta’s child, even if he were deceased, the bakery would continue to stay in the Mellark family. 

I bite my lip. Perhaps if Peeta and I had consummated our marriage, this would be a possibility. But I sit here a virgin, no Mellark heir in my belly.

Mr. Mellark stands up as well. “Let’s go Katniss. We can talk to someone in the Justice Building.”

I get up and place the squirrel onto the kitchen counter, before following him out of the apartment, down the stairs, and into the square.

I should tell him that I am not expecting, but I don’t because I don’t want to burden him any more. The false arrest of his son is enough for today.

Word must have spread about Peeta’s arrest because we are given strange and confused glances as we walk.

“Is it true?” says the owner of the Junk shop. He steps outside the door of his store and tries to flag us down to talk. He appears upset. Funny, I’d never noticed his eyes were the same shade as my husband’s. But maybe everything is reminding me of Peeta now. 

But my father-in-law waves his hand dismissively at the man and I hurry along by his side. He holds the door for me as we enter the Justice Building and wait at the front counter to speak to someone.

The receptionist directs us to the office where the Peacekeepers reside.

We enter a room to find Cray seated behind a large desk. It’s so odd to see him in this setting. He looks almost congenial as he lifts his head from his paperwork to study us. 

We stand before him. 

“What do you want?” He sounds irritated.

“You’ve arrested my son without any evidence,” Mr. Mellark begins 

Cray laughs. “We have the evidence.”

“What evidence,” Mr. Mellark asks.

“Lab results from the Capitol. The woman was poisoned with sumac.”

My mouth drops open. Sumac. The plant that I used to dye the deerskin for the Dressers. The plant Mr. Dresser specifically directed me to use.

“My son is a baker. He doesn’t know anything about plants.”

A shiver runs down my spine. Especially when I realize that Peeta knows something about plants. He’s been making paints for years. And he especially knows about sumac after I told him about the process of dying the deerskin.

“Well that’s interesting because he has some sumac in his house right now, along with a pile of illegal animal pelts. He claimed ownership of everything after we searched the house.”

The Peacekeepers have been inside our house! I take a deep breath and try to stay calm.

“Can we speak with him?” Mr. Mellark asks.

Cray shakes his head. “No. The prisoner has been locked up for the evening.”

What happens next? I put my hand to my forehead, thinking I may faint. With that evidence, surely he will be executed tomorrow morning. 

Cray’s reply answers my unspoken concerns. “President Snow is aware of this situation. He believes that televising this matter in a public trial here in Twelve would do much to illustrate that justice and safety exists in all the districts.”

“Trial?” My father-in-law is astounded. “District 12 never had had a trial before.”

He’s right. The Capitol has never permitted the districts to have any kind of legal system. Why bother when actions as small as petty theft are punishable with a whipping, perhaps even death. Consequently crime is low because if a person is caught breaking a law and the Peacekeepers become aware of it, harsh judgment is issued immediately. 

Of course for lesser offenses, private matters that no one wants to bring to the attention of the Peacekeepers, people take matters into their own hands. Vigilante actions have occurred upon occasion in District 12. 

“This is a most interesting case to President Snow,” Cray explains.

My father-in-law and I stare at each other wondering why the president would want to make a spectacle of this matter.

“When can we see Peeta?” Mr. Mellark persists in asking.

“Tomorrow. And bring Haymitch Abernathy with you.”

Why? What does that drunken victor have to do with this matter?

I look to my father-in-law who appears equally stunned.

Cray guffaws loudly. “Abernathy is the only one in Twelve that’s qualified to work in a Capitol courtroom. It seems that despite his drunken appearance, the victor is smart. And with not having to work like the rest of us, he has a lot of time on his hands to read and study. Seems he’s got all sorts of honors and certifications from Capitol schools. One of those certifications permits him to defend people against the government of Panem.”

“How is the death of the tailor’s wife a crime against Panem?” my father-in-law questions.

“The Capitol values all its citizens’ lives very much,” Cray says stiffly.

I am ready to scream in protest, but Mr. Mellark grabs my arm and gives me a warning glance.

“We’ll be back tomorrow morning with Haymitch,” he says. 

He’s still holding my arm as he steers me out Cray’s office and out of the Justice Building.

“Let’s go,” he says as he walks swiftly away.

“Where?” 

“To Victor’s Village.”

As we walk to the housing compound built for District Twelve’s winners of The Hunger Games, my father-in-law tells me that he knows Haymitch.

“We were classmates. Although Haymitch was from the Seam, he was smart and resourceful.”

I bristle at his comment regarding residents of the Seam, implying that most of them are stupid and lazy, because I, too, am Seam born and bred.

He must realize how his comment sounds to me because he immediately adds that I remind him of Haymitch in my resourcefulness. 

“But The Games changed him,” he continues. 

“My mother once said that,” I admit.

“She’s right.”

We’re soon at the Victor’s Village. A half-mile walk from the center of Town, it seems like another world entirely. It’s a separate community built around a beautiful green, dotted with flowering bushes. There are twelve large houses. Eleven stand empty. Only Haymitch lives here.

My father-in-law and I come to the front door and knock. No one answers. Mr. Mellark pounds on the door. “Haymitch, come out. I need to see you.”

From inside the house we hear a groan, then a shout. “Go away.”

“No,” Mr. Mellark bellows. His face is red and he continues to pound on the door. 

After a few minutes, the victor opens the door. He is disheveled. His shirt is untucked from his pants. If he is a similar age to my mother and my father-in-law, then he has aged poorly because he looks far older than them. 

“What do want Mellark?” 

“Cray sent us here. My son Peeta has been falsely arrested for murdering the tailor’s wife. Cray said you are the only person who can defend Peeta in a Capitol trial.”

I fear for Peeta’s welfare because Haymitch looks as if he’s been punched in the gut.

“A Capitol trial?” He stands there dumbfounded.

But Mr. Mellark pushes his way past Haymitch into the house. I follow him and am astounded by the level of squalor. The smell of rot permeates the air.

Haymitch turns to stare at us.

“If you spent less time in this hovel and got into Town more you’d know what’s going on,” Mr. Mellark says.

I stare around the Haymitch’s “hovel” in amazement. It is a well-built house that was finely decorated with beautiful furniture that is now stained and damaged by neglect. The thick carpet is littered with trash. Dirty clothes are draped over the backs of all the chairs. It is sad to see such finery treated so poorly. I think about Peeta’s and my house that is nearly devoid of furniture.

“Let’s go outside to talk,” Haymitch finally says. He turns to the door and we follow him outside. We leave Victor’s Village and slowly head back to Town. 

“Now tell me everything from the beginning,” Haymitch says as we slowly meander down the narrow roadway.

Mr. Mellark gives a brief summary of the events that have transpired.

“Did he have any motive to kill her?” Haymitch asks.

“No,” my father-in-law and I answer in unison. 

“Did he have any connection at all to this woman?” 

Mr. Mellark is quiet for a moment before answering. “My wife negotiated a fertility contract between Peeta and the Dressers. But the contract was ended when Peeta married Katniss.”

Haymitch stops walking and gives me a long stare. “So that was the reason for the hasty toasting?”

Mr. Mellark gives me a curious glance and I realize Peeta probably never told him that we had toasted the night before we went to the Justice Building and that Haymitch had been there to witness it.

“What toasting?” Mr. Mellark asks.

“It’s not important,” Haymitch responds. “So the contract ended. Were the Dressers angry or upset? Did they threaten you?”

Mr. Mellark looks puzzled. “I don’t believe so. My wife handled all of that.”

“Well that’s a problem right there. Your other half isn’t known for her tact. Have you considered maybe she was the one who did the tailor’s wife in?”

I snort at Haymitch’s blunt appraisal of the situation. 

My father-in-law’s face grows red. “Really Haymitch,” he sputters.

“I call it as I see it.” Haymitch hides a smile.

His face grows serious a moment later and he turns to me. “What about your relationship with the Dressers hunter girl?”

My eyes open wide at Haymitch’s comment. My father-in-law gives me a sympathetic glance. 

“Don’t act so surprised,” Haymitch says. “Your illegal business is well-known in the Seam and probably as well known by the few people rich enough in Town to be purchasing fur-lined garments from the Dressers.”

I choke back a gasp. I thought I had been discreet in my dealings. If Haymitch, who spends most of his time drunk in Victor’s Village knows how I made my living then it’s likely the Peacekeepers know as well.

“They’ve brought animal skins from me in the past. But a few days before she died, Mr. Dresser said they couldn’t do business with me any longer.”

“Why?”

“They implied it was because of the broken contract.” I don’t tell Haymitch and my father-in-law about Mr. Dressers’ odd request to meet with me later regarding the furs.

When we get to town, Mr. Mellark tells Haymitch to come to the bakery. “Let me give you some bread at least.”

We enter the back door. Mr. Mellark goes to the front of the closed shop and pulls two loaves from the display case. 

“Thanks,” Haymitch mutters, putting the loaves under his arm.

My mother-in-law enters the room. She dangles the dead squirrel I had set on her kitchen counter by its tail. “Take this too.” She tosses it at Haymitch who reacts quickly and catches it with his free hand.

Mr. Mellark glares at his wife. 

“I don’t like the smell of those creatures when they cook,” she sniffs, before returning upstairs.

We follow Haymitch outside. “Cray won’t let us see Peeta unless you come along. Could you be here at nine tomorrow?”

Haymitch frowns. “I don’t keep the same hours as you these days. Besides I’ll be up late thinking over this case.”

“It better be thinking over and not drinking over,” Mr. Mellark says. “My boy’s life is at stake.”

Haymitch nods and sets off. He turns suddenly and calls at us. “If Snow has his nose in it you can bet he’s turning your boy into a pawn in some sick game he’s playing.”

I look to my father-in-law and see the horror in his eyes.

“I should go,” I tell him after we watch Haymitch plod away.

“You’re welcome to spend the night here, if you don’t want to be alone.”

There’s no way I want to spend the evening with my in-laws. “No, I’ll be fine. I’ll see you in the morning.”

It’s dark now and I make my way back to our house holding my game bag close. Lights show from the windows of my neighbors’ houses. I walk up to my dark front door. I pull the key from my pocket and am ready to put it in the lock when a hand touches my shoulder.

I drop the key in shock as I jump backwards, my heart racing in my chest. 

“Katniss,” a voice whispers. 

In the dark I can just make out the features of the tailor. 

He grins at me, his white teeth glowing in the dark night. “At last we can talk.”


	7. Chapter 7

Peeta’s accuser stands close by. My shock gives way to rage. It sweeps over me and it’s all I can do to keep my hands by my side and not pummel him. 

“What are you doing here?” My voice is loud and angry.

“I wanted to see the deerskin.”

His wife is dead, his accusation has put my husband in jail drawing the attention of President Snow, and he wants to see the deerskin. I am furious, ready to combust.

His voice lowers, taking on a calm and measured tone. “Don’t get so upset Katniss. You’ll distress the baby.”

There is no baby, I nearly shout, but I hold my tongue. I will not share any personal information with him.

“Get out of here,” I shriek. I wish I had my bow and arrows with me because I would gladly shoot him at this moment.

“All right.” He takes a few steps toward the street, but then turns back. “I just thought you’d like to get that deerskin off your hands. If the Peacekeepers find it in your possession, you might be charged along with your husband.” 

The Peacekeepers already know about it I remind myself.

He leaves. Hastily I bend down and locate my key. My hand shakes as I turn it in the lock. I toss my game bag onto the ground, lock the door behind me, and rush through the dark front room and into the bedroom. 

The burdens of this day wash over me as I dart to the tiny closet. I open the door and go inside, dropping to the ground to sit on a heap of clothes that lie there. I shut the door behind me. 

Taking a deep breath, I pull my legs up close to my chest, and wrap my arms around them. I make myself as small as I possibly can. In the closed off space the faint scent of cinnamon and dill permeates the air. It reminds me of Peeta and I long to feel his arms around me. How can I sleep in our bed alone? Will he ever return to me? Will my life ever be the same again? 

Everything I thought about myself has changed this day and I’m not sure what to think. For the first time in my life, I wish I were pregnant because now I think the Mellarks will likely lose the bakery when this trial is over.

I find myself rocking and sobbing atop the pile of clothes as I list in my mind the things I know to be real, clinging to them as if they were a shelter in a storm. I try to make sense of my life as it now stands. 

My name is Katniss… Everdeen, no; Hawthorne, please no; Mellark, yes, that’s it; Katniss Mellark. My husband Peeta was arrested for murder. President Snow wants a public trial for Peeta.

After a long time, I doze off. I awake, hunched over and thrashing my arms about after a nightmare in which Peeta is whipped in the town square until he is dead. Mr. Dresser wraps my husband’s body in the deerskin and smiles at me seductively. 

My body aches when I exit the closet. It’s the middle of the night, but I turn on every single light in the house, feeling decadent in my extravagance. I walk aimlessly from room to room. 

Eventually I wear myself out. I settle on the bed. My body curls into a tiny ball with the blanket tight around me, and I drift off. 

Despite my nocturnal wanderings, I wake at the same early hour as usual, and dress quickly. I head for the bakery. I don’t know if I’ll be much help to my in-laws, but I need to keep myself busy. And they will need the extra hands with Peeta gone.

It has clearly been a bad night for them, as well. They are already up when I arrive.

Mr. Mellark’s eyebrows rise when I enter through the back door and put on an apron. From the amount of baked loaves and cookies cooling on the worktable, I think he never went to bed.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says when I take in the sight. “Besides I need to get ahead since we’ll be meeting with Peeta this morning.”

He gives me a cup of tea and a plate with two cheese buns. “Eat something.”

My stomach growls at the sight and I realize I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning. I devour the buns. Seeing my hunger, my father-in-law takes a handful of sugar cookies and sets them on the plate for me.

I am eating the second to last cookie when my mother-in-law enters the kitchen. “That’s not good for the baby,” she shouts, spying one more cookie on the plate. She pulls it away from me and tosses it into the garbage.

I want to tell her I’m not pregnant, but I’m scared of her reaction to the news. Because she’ll know exactly what it means for the bakery. 

“I’m going to work on the books,” she announces, before going into the office. She shuts the door.

“Eat as many cookies as you like,” my father-in-law says, handing me another sugar cookie. “I’ve made far too many.”

Once I’m full, he puts me to work making cake batter. “We have two toasting cakes that need to be baked and frosted. This is going to be a real problem without Peeta.”

“Don’t you know how to do them?” Surely the bakery supplied toasting cakes before Peeta got the job. 

“I haven’t done one in ages,” he admits. “My fingers get stiff doing the intricate details. Peeta’s been doing them since he was fourteen.”

My jaw drops. I never realized how necessary Peeta was in operating the bakery. 

“He was the most talented of the three boys when it came to baking and decorating,” Mr. Mellark says. 

I hate that he is talking about Peeta as if he is gone forever. He will come back. He must.

“When do you think Haymitch will get here?” I change the conversation.

“Hopefully by ten, or I’ll be going to Victor’s Village to pull him out of his bed.”

After an hour, Mrs. Mellark comes out of the office and goes out to the front. She turns over the hand-lettered sign that reads “Closed,” to the other side that reads “Open.” She unlocks the door. Within minutes the first customer has arrived.

Mrs. Mellark fends several questions about Peeta. Clearly word of his arrest has spread throughout Town.

There seems to be a lot of speculation among the customers as to the possible long-term consequences of this action. They are not yet aware that President Snow intends to make a national spectacle of this matter. 

Instead some ask Mrs. Mellark when the execution will be held, as if they wanted to get a front row view of it. They ask whether Rye or Phyl will be stepping in for Peeta. An even smarter and most oblivious customer who has worked things out further and realizes that Rye and Phyl would not be able to leave their current employment, asks about the bakery being taken over by new ownership.

Mrs. Mellark laughs uproariously in her phony manner and tells the speculator that Peeta is married and his wife is expecting. “An heir is forthcoming,” she announces.

In the back I wince and look to my father-in-law who gives me an embarrassed smile. 

“I’m not expecting,” I tell him.

“I didn’t think you were.” 

“Does she know?” I tip my head toward the front of the shop.

“I’m not sure. I guess she wishes it were true. But let’s hope for the best.”

Surprisingly Haymitch appears at the back door of the shop a few minutes before ten. By this time, the display case in front is full and there are extra baked goods in the back. Mr. Mellark has baked all the many layers that make up the toasting cakes and they cool on a rack. 

He goes to the front to tell his wife that we are leaving for the Justice Building to meet with Peeta.

She complains about the customers, and how her head aches, and how she’s tired of fielding the stupid questions from the District 12 populace.

“Close up the shop if it bothers you that much,” the baker says. “Come with us and visit your son.”

She shakes her head. “Someone needs to stay and run the business.”

I am glad she does not join us. We take off our aprons and depart.

Haymitch has cleaned himself up. Dark circles hang under his eyes but the whites are clear which indicates that he listened to Mr. Mellark and stayed sober the previous evening.

As we walk toward the Justice Building, Haymitch instructs us to stay silent. “Let me find out what is going on.”

We are directed to Cray’s office. However Cray wants to speak only with Haymitch. My father-in-law and I sit outside waiting. 

My father-in-law sighs loudly and I worry for him. He has much more at stake than me. He may not only lose his son, but his livelihood as well. 

Finally the door opens and Haymitch and Cray exit. Haymitch appears angry, and Cray looks somewhat subdued. I wonder what was discussed behind that heavy, closed door. 

“I’ll take you to him,” Cray says. As we follow him down a flight of stairs and into the darkened basement, Cray explains that they’ve had to improvise a holding cell for Peeta. “We’re not set up for prisoners.” 

We make our way down a long and twisting hallway. Pipes run across the low ceilings. Finally we reach a room where two guards sit near the doorway at a small table, playing a card game. 

“Who’s winning?” Cray asks. Both men jerk their heads up immediately. 

A lazy smile crosses one man’s face. “I’ve won most of Jack’s salary for the next month.”

Cray snorts. “Visitors for the prisoner.”

The man named Jack stands up, pulls a key ring from his belt loop, and unlocks the door.

“They have thirty minutes,” Cray says.

“Okay,” Jack replies. He opens the door and Haymitch, Mr. Mellark, and I enter a windowless room.

A chair sits in front of a small table. Peeta sits on a mattress on the floor. 

He springs up immediately and rushes to me. He wraps his arms around my shoulders and pulls me close. I bury my nose into his chest and inhale his scent. We cling to each other, but break apart at Haymitch’s comment to “contain ourselves.”

As we let go, a confused expression crosses Peeta’s face as if he’s just noticed Haymitch, and doesn’t understand why the victor is here.

Haymitch seems to sense Peeta’s unspoken question. “I’ll be defending you.” 

Peeta continues to look puzzled but Haymitch immediately launches into a series of questions.

“How are they treating you?” 

“All right.”

“Are they feeding you?”

Peeta nods.

“Regular trips to the toilet?”

“Yes.”

“Is there anything you need?”

“To get out of here.”

Haymitch laughs. “Not likely.”

“I’m so bored. All I do is lie around thinking. Would it be possible to get a pencil and some paper so I could sketch at least?”

“I’ll see what I can do.” 

“What have they told you Peeta?” his father asks. 

Again Peeta looks surprised to see his father there. Did he notice either man when we walked into the room or was he only focused on me?

“Not much. How are you managing in the bakery?”

“We’re fine. Katniss helped me out this morning.”

“There were those orders for the toasting cakes...”

His father interrupts. “Don’t worry about the bakery Peeta. We’ll manage. Rye and Phyl can lend a hand, and Katniss is a big help.”

I know and Peeta certainly knows I’m not much help at all, but all the same I’m glad his father attempts to reassure him.”

“How long will they keep me here?” Peeta looks to his father, but as his father turns to Haymitch Peeta turns as well looking for an answer.

“We need to talk about that,” Haymitch says. “I don’t know what they’ve told you, but Snow wants a public trial here in Twelve.”

Peeta’s eyes grow big. “What? Snow, you mean the president?”

“Yes,” Haymitch answers. “He intends to turn this into a murder trial for all of Panem to watch.”

“But I had nothing to do with her death.” 

“She was poisoned with sumac. Cray says that Peacekeepers found dried sumac leaves in your house, along with some additional items.” Haymitch turns and gives me a careful glance.

Immediately, Peeta’s demeanor changes. “Yes, there are sumac leaves in my house.” His voice is flat.

“Those belong to…” I begin, but Peeta puts his fingers over my lips.

“No Katniss.” 

He reaches for my hand squeezing it and I know he means for me to keep quiet. I hate that Peeta is lying about the sumac and animal skins to protect me. 

I remember Cray’s threat to Peeta when he was first questioned about Mrs. Dresser’s death. Remember we can make things difficult. 

Is Cray blackmailing Peeta? Has he coerced him to agree to this charge to keep me safe from prosecution? Because hunting is a serious crime in Twelve. 

The guard raps on the door before sticking his head into the room. “Time to wrap it up in here.”

“Can I have a moment alone with Katniss?” Peeta ask his father and Haymitch.

“Watch what you say,” Haymitch warns us before he walks out. 

I shiver. Does he think the guards are listening in to our conversation?

As soon as the door shuts, Peeta pulls me into his arms and buries his face in my hair, taking a deep breath. “I’ve missed you so much.” 

“Why didn’t you tell…” 

But he stops me from speaking by crushing his lips to mine. The stubble that has grown on his unshaved face is rough against my skin as his kiss intensifies. But I don’t care. My legs grow weak and I lean almost all of my weight onto him. Peeta pulls me backward slowly, never breaking his hold on my lips, until his back is resting on the door. I slump up against him as he breaks free of my mouth and begins to plant kisses on my cheeks, then my neck. 

“What are we going to…” I sigh, but he silences me again with his lips. 

I am lost in his kisses when the door behind me vibrates with a dull rap. It’s pushed open, and I am shoved forward. Peeta breaks free of me.

“Be sure you keep eating,” Peeta says, as the Peacekeeper stands in the doorway. “Our baby needs to grow big and strong.”

My eyes fly to his face. Baby? What in the hell is he talking about?

His hand rests on my belly, on the exact spot where a baby would lie. “You’re going to make a great mother you know.”

The peacekeeper pulls at my arm, backing me out of the room. All the time I wonder at what game Peeta is playing. Why does he want the Peacekeepers to think I am expecting?

My father-in-law and Haymitch wait outside. My father-in-law gives me a curious look. I start to speak, but Haymitch tilts his head toward the Peacekeepers. “Wait until we’re outside.”

As we walk back in the direction of the bakery, Haymitch speaks in a low voice. “Listen we can’t talk much in the Justice Building. That place is rife with cameras and recording devices.”

My face flushes as I think of my kisses with Peeta. Were we being watched? And by whom? 

Haymitch catches my reaction.

“Hopefully you played it smart and didn’t say anything to incriminate yourself during your time alone with him.” 

He mocks me.

“I didn’t say anything.” I’m still wondering at Peeta’s bizarre statement at the end.

We are already to the bakery. Peeta’s father halts. “I need to get back to work,” he tells us. I try to follow him inside, but he encourages me to walk Haymitch home and tell him everything I can think of that might help with the case. 

We set off toward Victor’s Village.

“Looks like you put on a few pounds since your toasting,” the victor says. “You must be eating better these days.”

He obviously heard Peeta’s comment. I need to set him straight.

“Well, I did marry the baker’s son. We eat a lot of bread.”

“Could there be another reason for the weight gain?”

“No.” My voice is sharp. What in hell is wrong with everyone?

“Well, it might be best to pretend that there is another reason,” Haymitch suggests. “It would certainly help your in-laws fend off gossip about losing their business. Besides even Cray might hesitate to have a pregnant woman whipped in the Town Square. 

I shudder at the thought. Because I’m sure Cray knows exactly who is the real owner of the animal pelts and deerskin.

“I think your husband has already figured it out. He’s playing it exactly right.”

“He’s lying to keep me from getting charged.”

“That boy loves you a lot.”

My mother’s excuse for her unbelievable actions flits through my mind. When you love someone you’ll do whatever it takes to protect them. 

Even give up his life? Peeta couldn’t love me that much.

I grasp for some way out of this mess when a thought suddenly occurs to me about the sumac leaves. Something that could help Peeta. 

“The sumac leaves in our house aren’t poisonous,” I tell Haymitch. I explain about the deerskin I’d tanned for the Dressers and how Mr. Dresser had told me to avoid the leaves of the sumac plants that contain green or yellow berries because they were dangerous and would cause a serious rash to my hands. “He said to use only leaves from the plants with the red berries.”

“That’s very interesting, but the leaves in your house don’t implicate Peeta, despite what Cray has implied. But there was poisonous sumac in the loaf of bread from the bakery. And the lab results from the Capitol prove it.”

I sigh. “Do you think he’ll be condemned then?”

He gives me a sad smile. “I’m not sure what Snow’s plans are, although I have some suspicions. From the little I’ve heard, it’s clear the boy’s been framed. His connection to this case is coincidental at best.”

“Well then it should be simple to prove his innocence.” 

Haymitch snorts. “If only it were that easy. No, there is a bigger picture at stake. I just haven’t figured it all out yet.”


	8. Chapter 8

Victor’s Village is mid-way between Town and the Seam. Despite my heated reaction to my mother’s revelation two days ago, I feel drawn to her house to tell her about what has occurred so that she will hear the words from my lips before she hears it from a neighbor, or worst yet from Prim. 

With everything that’s happened since, I have avoided thinking about her startling admission. Perhaps I am in denial. 

But I can’t deny what has happened to Peeta. Not when I have visited him in his confinement. 

My mother is alone when I arrive; Prim still at school. I knock on the door before pushing it open. She lies on the sofa, her hand over her eyes. 

I am immediately brought back to the days after my father died, because yes, he will always be my father. Has my anger at her confession caused her to collapse again?

“Are you sick?” My voice is sharper than I intend, but I have no sympathy for her nonsense. Not now.

She lowers her hand to stare at me. “Here to finish me off Katniss?” Her voice is eerily calm.

“I’m here to tell you that Peeta has been arrested.”

She sits up immediately.

“What? Why?”

“He’s been accused of poisoning the tailor’s wife with sumac.”

My mother frowns. “Wasn’t that the plant you used to dye that deer hide?”

“Yes,” I mutter. 

“Oh Katniss.” She gets off the sofa and comes toward me. “I’m so sorry.”

She wraps her arms around me and pulls me backwards to sit down.

I do not resist. In my mother’s arms I am a child again. I’m finally safe enough to let go of the emotions I have held in since leaving Peeta in the basement of the Justice Building. I break into loud sobs, choking on my words as I explain that Peeta is going to be tried for the crime because President Snow has taken personal interest in the matter. And the worst of it, Peeta is covering for me by claiming the sumac leaves and animal skins in our house are his, not mine.

“I don’t know what to do,” I cry.

My mother rocks me for a long time, her hand gently running down the length of my braid. When my tears have slowed, she releases me from her arms. “Let’s have some tea and we can talk it through.”

While we sit at the table, I tell her what I know of the charges, including the fact that everyone seems to think I’m pregnant. 

My mother snorts at that news. “When someone from Town marries someone from the Seam that’s the first thing people think. It happened to me too. You can’t believe the hateful things people said to your father and me.”

My jaw drops. I’d always thought of my parents’ marriage as if it were a fairytale, the handsome Seam boy who swept the beautiful Merchant girl off her feet causing her to renounce her family and friends. But apparently instead of glitter, my mother and father were smeared with something worse than coal dust.

“Haymitch thinks it’s better to pretend to be pregnant. He says it will help avoid gossip about the Mellarks losing the bakery.”

“Haymitch Abernathy? How is he involved?”

“He’s defending Peeta in the trial,” I explain.

My mother shakes her head in confusion, but stays on the topic of pregnancy. 

“Maybe it’s not a lie. Maybe you are pregnant.”

“I’m not.”

Thankfully she doesn’t argue or ask me about whether I’ve used her special tea. Instead she changes the subject and asks me if I’ve given any more thought to our discussion from a couple of days ago.

“No.” I look away from her, still hurt, but choosing to set it aside to think about later when my life is more settled.

“I should have told you,” my mother says, “especially with you working so closely with Gale. But your relationship always seemed like that of a brother and sister, so I thought I could avoid telling you. But I promise I’ll tell Prim. You haven’t mentioned it, have you?”

“No.” I haven’t even seen Prim. Too many other things have happened. But the thought of my sister learning the story makes me ill. She loved our father dearly. She will be distraught. I do not want to put her through that. But does that make me complicit with my mother in keeping it secret? I’m too tired and my head aches too much to worry about it. I swallow the last of the tea and stand up.

“I should go back to the bakery. They are short-handed right now.”

My mother squeezes my hand. “It will all work out for good Katniss, you’ll see.” 

Peeta said something like that when he first came to see me after I agreed to marry him. Although I don’t believe her now, it reassures me to hear Peeta’s words again.

I return to the bakery where business is booming. Word has gotten out that a public trial is planned. Twelve has never garnered much national attention before. We have only one living victor from The Hunger Games and our tributes drawn from the Community Home usually die the first day or two of The Games. 

My father-in-law works the front counter. “Thank goodness you’re here. My wife is upstairs resting. She has a terrible headache.”

Guilt settles in as I think about my visit to my mother’s house. Maybe I should have come straight back to the bakery after leaving Haymitch.

In the lull between customers, my father-in-law puts me to work mixing up batches of dough. Despite the overabundance of baked goods he made early this morning, he is running out. 

It’s ironic that people purchase products from a bakery accused of selling poisoned bread, but I think the customers come into the shop simply to find out what is going on, although my father-in-law is not overly chatty with them.

In the back, I follow the measured recipes printed in an old book with frayed pages that Mr. Mellark takes down from the shelf.

I’ve never seen Peeta or my father-in-law use the book as they have the recipes committed to memory. From the condition of the book, I suspect a distant relative of Peeta’s, far back in his family’s history, wrote it. A great-grandfather perhaps.

If the Mellarks lose the bakery the new baker would need this book to continue to serve the district well. While I’ve never given it much thought, the national housing policy that kicks families out of their businesses hurts the districts is so many ways. Years of expertise are lost. And more years are wasted until the new tradesperson assigned to the business can get up to speed to match the skills of the previous one.

My father-in-law closes the bakery early. He comes into the back and, instead of cleaning up for the day, he begins to make more baked goods.

I help for a while, but eventually he tells me to go home. “Get some rest, you look drawn my dear.”

I’m sure I do. But I don’t want to leave. I have nothing to go home to. He hands me a bag filled with cookies, two cheese buns, and a small berry tart. 

“Be sure you eat something. We can’t have you losing weight.”

Because then no one will believe you are pregnant, I add in my head. Will people be looking for the gentle swelling of my belly before long? While my face has filled out since moving to Town and eating much better, my body is still lean. Maybe I will have to put a pillow under my shirt.

No one lurks at my front door this evening. I enter the house, immediately go to the bedroom closet, and shut the door. I drop to the floor and make myself comfortable before I open my bag, inhaling the sweet smell. 

Reaching in I feel around for a cookie, pull it out, and nibble on it. Slowly I devour the entire contents of the bag. My eyes grow sleepy in the dark, enclosed space as the food fills my stomach and calms me. I lean my head back against the wall. If Peeta is found guilty, I may spend the remainder of my life shut up in this closet. It is quiet and peaceful here. 

When I awake my muscles are stiff. I get onto my knees and open the closet door to let myself out. The room is dark. I crawl to the bed and pull the blanket over me. I breathe in Peeta’s scent and think about his kisses earlier in the day. I close my eyes and pretend he is kissing me now. Somehow pretending is not the same. I fall asleep again.

I wake to pounding on my door. I stagger from my bed. It’s Delly. 

“Are you all right?” she asks. 

I nod, curious as why she is even here. “They were worried when you didn’t show up at the bakery this morning.”

Did they expect me to arrive at dawn again? “It’s not so late.”

Delly looks at me like I’m insane. “It’s past noon Katniss.”

I look past Delly at the position of the sun in the sky. My jaw drops because she’s right. How could I have slept so long and still feel so tired?

My sister-in-law pushes past me into the house. “Clean up Katniss and come with me. Haymitch is holding a family meeting upstairs at the bakery. You should be there for it.”

I look down. I wear the same clothes as yesterday. A purple blotch stains my shirt, likely the result of the dinner I ate in the dark closet last night. 

“All right,” I sigh.

I go into the bathroom and shower. 

When I come out Delly has tidied up, made the bed and hung up a few items of clothing that lay on the floor of the closet.

“You don’t have much here, do you?” she comments, as I put on a faded shirt with tiny flowers and a pair of pants. 

“We didn’t have a big wedding.” The sarcasm in my voice is clear, and surely Delly must understand it, but she chooses not to play into it. 

Instead she tells me that she and Rye have some extra furniture and linens they would be glad to pass along to us.

Furnishing a house that will likely never become a home is not a priority for me now.

Delly and I hurry to the bakery. There is a closed sign on the door.

A loud argument is underway as we walk up the stairs to the living quarters. Mrs. Mellark seems particularly upset.

“It’s all her fault. This never would have happened if Peeta…”

The conversation stops the second I enter the room. Around the table sits Peeta’s family, his parents and two brothers. Haymitch sits at the head. 

Delly walks to Rye and kisses his cheek. “I brought her, now I need to get back to work.”

She exits the room, leaving me alone with Peeta’s parents and brothers.

The chair next to Haymitch is empty. “Over here sweetheart,” he says. 

All eyes are on me as I make my way and sit down. 

“We’re done with the blaming,” Haymitch begins once I’m seated. He directs his words toward Mrs. Mellark. “We have a lot to do and not much time. Snow wants this wrapped up before The Hunger Games airs.

The reaping is next month.

“We’re meeting here because as far as I know your house isn’t bugged. Mine is and so is the Justice Building.”

Looks of surprise go round the table. 

“I don’t believe it,” my mother-in-law murmurs.

“Don’t be so naïve,” Haymitch says. “The Capitol keeps tabs on everything. Fortunately I have a friend who, shall I say, is privy to a fair number of Capitol secrets. He has passed along a message to me.”

Everyone leans in closer as Haymitch lowers his voice dramatically. “He says that Snow plans to use this case to prove to the districts the unfairness of the national housing policy.”

“It is unfair,” Mrs. Mellark burst out. “But he put the policy into place.”

“If you remember he did it because the districts were on the verge of rebelling. And it did lessen the seditious talk considerably. In fact, those unaffected by the policy are rather content.” 

“No one in the Seam is content,” I spit out. “People are starving.”

Haymitch turns to me. “Snow could care less about the Seam.”

I scowl at his words, but I know he’s right.

“But why now?” Mr. Mellark asks. “Why Peeta?”

Haymitch shifts in his chair. His hands, which rest on the table, shake slightly. I wonder if he is experiencing the aftereffects of not drinking. Tremors are common among the drunks my mother treats when they run out of money to purchase alcohol.

“Ever since the rule change, which limited the reaping to children living in the district’s Community Homes, The Hunger Games have gone down in popularity.”

“When were they ever popular?” Everyone turns to stare at me.

“They used to be popular in the Capitol,” Haymitch says. “But nowadays Capitol viewers aren’t as excited to watch orphans battle each other. Ratings were much higher when the tributes had families and friends that could be interviewed. Mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, sweethearts that would cry over their loved ones on camera. The tragedy and angst of it all made The Games a thrilling, and even cathartic experience for Capitol viewers.”

It sickens me that the Capitol feasts on our pain. I look around the table to see the revulsion on everyone’s face. This is one topic that we all can agree on. 

“To the eyes of the Capitol viewer, The Hunger Games have become boring,” Haymitch continues, “and it’s impacted the amount of money the Capitol can make through advertising.”

“But watching the show is mandatory,” my father-in-law points out. “What does it matter if Capitol viewers are bored?”

“Viewing is mandatory in the districts, but not in the Capitol,” Haymitch explains. “Capitol viewers are free to turn off their television and do something else. And believe me there are plenty of things to do in the Capitol to keep a person entertained.”

Everyone is silent as we absorb that fact. The people in the Capitol are so jaded, so calloused that the show that the districts are forced to watch with their hearts in their collective throats is mere entertainment to them. It needs to be spiced up to attract their interest. 

“But what about Finnick Odair?” my mother-in-law asks. “He came from the Community Home in Four. His games were extremely popular.” A faint pink blush appears on her cheeks as she talks about the victor just slightly older than Phyl.

“Finnick was an anomaly,” Haymitch says.

Likely because he’s one of the best-looking men in all of Panem with his sea-green eyes and bronze hair, I suspect. 

“This is all very interesting,” my father-in-law notes. “But you still haven’t answered my questions. Why now? Why Peeta?”

“I thought it was obvious. Snow wants to restore the old rules starting with next month’s reaping. Put the names of all the children in the districts from age 12 through 18 back into the reaping bowl, the same as it was when we were young. In return, he’ll graciously end the housing policy. Peeta’s trial is meant to showcase the unfairness of that policy.”

I gasp. Prim is sixteen. I married to keep her name out of that bowl. Will it be put in now regardless of my actions? 

Both my brothers-in-law look ill. While neither has children yet, the thought that they could lose one of their progeny to The Hunger Games is unthinkable.

“Forgive me, but I still don’t understand the connection between a public trial and the housing policy?” My father-in-law shakes his head in wonder.

Haymitch sighs. “Look, both you and the tailor are in danger of losing your livelihood, the tailor through the death of his wife and you through the possible loss of your son. Snow can use the power of mandatory viewing to twist this situation every imaginable way to wring out the most pathos possible. When he’s through, the districts will be begging him to take away the onerous policy they once eagerly embraced.”

Despair sits on my father-in-law’s face.

Haymitch clears his throat. “Let’s get down to work. I received a call last evening from a junior Gamesmaker, Plutarch Heavensbee. He’ll be in charge of the televising of the trial. The event will be mandatory viewing in the districts and, of course, optional in the Capitol. Heavensbee is trying to make a name for himself so he’s determined to make the trial quite dramatic and entertaining to encourage Capitol viewers to watch.” 

He pauses and then looks directly at me. “Plutarch wants to pay special attention to Peeta’s distraught pregnant wife.”

I choke on his words. “But you know I’m not...” I begin.

Mrs. Mellark’s face contorts. “What? What?” She glares at me. “Don’t tell me you miscarried?”

I shake my head. “I told you already. I’m not pregnant.”

My two brother-in-laws exchange nervous glances. 

“Well maybe you could be and you don’t know it,” Rye suggests.

My mother-in-law’s face lights up at the possibility. 

I shake my head. 

My mother-in-law puts her hands to her head and moans in frustration. “We’re going to lose the bakery.” She looks to Rye and Phyl. “One of you boys is going to have to help your brother out here.”

“I can’t leave the grocery,” Phyl states.

“That’s not what I mean. Katniss needs to get pregnant so we can keep the bakery.”

My jaw drops in amazement as I realize what she’s suggesting, that I carry a child of one of them and pass it off as Peeta’s baby.”

“No,” I shout, glaring at her. 

“Your mother…” she begins. 

“You’re blowing this way out of proportion,” Haymitch interrupts. “Regardless of the outcome of the trial, the housing policy will change. If Peeta is found guilty,” he stops to give my in-laws a sad glance, “you won’t lose your business, only your son.”

Neither of my in-laws looks satisfied at that piece of news.

“Look let’s concentrate on Peeta winning,” Haymitch concludes. “In a couple of days a stylist from the Capitol will be arriving here to prep all of you for the televised trial. You’re not going to like what they do, but don’t resist.”

“Why would we need to be prepped?” my father-in-law asks.

“In case you’re called as witnesses,” Haymitch explains.

“Dad, maybe you’ll end up looking like Caesar Flickerman with blue hair,” Rye says.

Even I break into a smile at the thought of Mr. Mellark’s appearance changing so greatly.

“I’ll see you soon,” Haymitch says. He stands. “Walk home with me Katniss, then you can go to work in the bakery.”

“All right.” I’m eager to escape.

Haymitch is silent until we are on the road to Victor’s Village. “I’m sorry about that witch mentioning your mother.”

I stop to look at Haymitch. “How did you know? Does everyone in Twelve know about what she did?”

“I hope not.” Haymitch grimaces. “But you appear to have done all right for yourself in spite of the hand dealt to you. You’re very resourceful. My mother was like that too.”

“You have to be resourceful if you’re from the Seam,” I remind him. “When do you think I can see Peeta again?”

“Soon, when I can find someplace where you can both talk freely. Your husband has had too much time to contemplate his situation. I need you to talk some sense into him.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Cinna arrives two days later along with three assistants. I’m surprised at how normal he looks. Most of the stylists they interview on television are so dyed, stenciled, and surgically altered they’re grotesque. 

But Cinna wears a simple black shirt and pants. His close-cropped hair looks to be its natural shade of brown. His only concession to self-alteration seems to be the metallic gold eyeliner that has been applied with a light hand. It brings out the flecks of gold in his green eyes.

However, his assistants make up for it by dressing and looking quite freakish. It may be popular in the Capitol, but facial tattoos, orange hair, and skin that is dyed green stands out in a bad way in District 12.

Haymitch asks all of us to report to the Justice Building early the next morning. My mother-in-law complains because they are forced to close the bakery for this makeover session. 

But Haymitch reminds them that Peeta’s life is a stake. 

I arrive early. Peeta’s entire family, including his two sister-in-laws are there. My mother and Prim have also been ordered to attend; Prim is excused from school for the occasion.

They have set aside two rooms in the Justice Building, one for the women, the other for the men, for the beauty remakes. The rooms were chosen because they contain sinks, and running water is necessary for the procedures involved. 

Cinna and Venia a woman with aqua hair and gold tattoos above her eyebrows, work on the women. 

The men are worked on by Flavius, a man with orange corkscrew curls; and Octavia, the green-skinned woman.

Immediately there is trouble when Venia tells us to strip and wrap ourselves in the white towels, before lying on tables positions throughout the room.

“No,” Mrs. Mellark states. “I’m not stripping down.”

“We can’t wax you if you don’t take your clothes off,” Venia explains.

“I won’t do it.”

“Is there a problem?” Cinna asks. His voice is soothing.

Mrs. Mellark’s eyes grow big. She looks around the room nervously, glancing at me and her other daughters-in-law, then at Prim, and finally glaring at my rail-thin mother.

Her voice lowers. “You don’t understand. I’ve given birth to three very large babies. My figure is not what it once was.”

Cinna’s lips twitch, like he tries to hold back a chuckle. “Of course.” He turns to Venia. “Will you take Mrs. Mellark to a private room to undress.” He hands my mother-in-law a towel. “You can wrap yourself in this.”

“You want me to walk through the halls of the Justice Building with a towel wrapped around me?” She flushes. “No, I can undress in here.”

“Fine then,” Cinna says.

Cinna leaves the room while we strip. We make quick work of the request, keeping our eyes to ourselves. 

When he returns we are all lying atop a table. 

Venia goes from table to table putting cream on each woman’s face to “freshen” our skin, her exact words, and then hot wax on our legs, and then laying paper onto the wax. Once it cools, the papers are ripped from our legs. Whimpers are heard throughout the room as Venia works.

Prim flashes me a nervous glance and I give her a reassuring smile, but I’m not reassured in the least. 

“You women in Twelve are so hairy,” Venia keeps muttering. 

As soon as each woman’s body hair is removed, her face washed completely, and the ends of the hair on her head trimmed, the woman is led by Cinna to the corner where three racks of clothing stand. Cinna helps each woman select a few new outfits to wear during the trial.

“Is all this necessary?” Mrs. Mellark complains.

“You’ll be the subject of scrutiny by the entire nation,” Cinna says. “You’ll want to look nice.”

Mrs. Mellark frowns, but when Cinna picks out three new dresses for her, she seems pleased.

In fact, everyone is excited to receive the new clothing. People in the Seam are used to hand-me-downs, but even Merchants rarely get new things. It warms my heart to see Prim in a pink frock that makes her look especially lovely until I remember why we are all here. Peeta’s trial.

My heart twists in my chest. A few long, deep breaths calm me. 

I am the last to visit the rack. The others have been dismissed and have left carrying their new clothing on hangers. I wonder if there is anything left for me. 

Cinna leans in close. “I’ve put some extra padding in the waist to give the illusion of pregnancy.”

I gasp. So Cinna knows. I suppose Haymitch spoke with him.

“We can do the rest with make-up. You’ll be positively glowing by the time we’re done with you.”

I give him a small smile and thank him for his help. He opens a zipped bag at the end of one rack. Inside, are at least ten brightly colored outfits, mostly dresses, but two include pants with matching tops. 

“This is too much.” I am astounded and worried at the same time. Why would I need so much clothing? A thought occurs to me. What will Peeta wear?

“What about Peeta?”

Cinna smiles. “Don’t worry. We’ve got that covered. And it’s not too much,” he says. “Your photograph will appear in newspapers and magazines and television news many times. We can’t have you wearing the same outfit everyday, can we?”

I want to tell him that people in Twelve wear the same clothes all the time. We’re a poor district, no one, except Haymitch, can regularly afford new clothes, and Haymitch is generally too drunk to care about what he’s wearing.

Instead I mutter “thanks.” 

He pulls out one garment, a pair of pants with a top that hangs down to the top of my thighs. “Put this on now.” 

Cinna goes out of the room and Venia helps me dress, showing me how to put on the new undergarments Cinna provides. The outfit fits well, and Cinna is right, the cut of the shirt gives an illusion of fullness in my midsection.

Once dressed, Venia points me to a chair to sit. She puts a large cloth over my clothing and begins to make my face up. When she is through she unravels my braid, trims the ends and rebraids my hair, pinning it up behind my head. 

She holds up a hand mirror to my face. I don’t recognize myself. My eyes are outlined in black and the gray color seems intense. 

Cinna comes back in the room to give final approval. “You look very pretty,” he says. “Now come with me. I have a surprise for you.”

He reaches for my hand and leads me down a long hallway in the Justice Building. He knocks on a door and then opens it, pushing me inside a dimly lit space.

My eyes light up. 

“Peeta.”


	9. Chapter 9

The prep team has worked their magic on Peeta. He looks so handsome, I hardly recognize him. He stands before me in new clothes, a white button-down shirt and dark pants. I take him in for just a moment, before rushing forward and flinging myself into his arms. 

He staggers back a bit, perhaps thrown by my enthusiasm. He rests his face close to my ear and whispers. “How are you?”

Unexpectedly my eyes fill with tears. He pulls back to study my face. “I miss you,” I choke out.

A somber expression crosses his face. “Whatever happens Katniss, you must trust Haymitch.”

Why would Peeta say that?

“If things don’t go the way you expect…” he begins

“No, Peeta. I don’t even want to discuss it.” I place my fingers on his lips to quiet him.

“But I…”

Impulsively, I lean forward and kiss him stopping his words.

He loses himself in the kiss, but not for long. He pulls away. “Please Katniss. Listen to me. It’s important.”

I nod dumbly. “Okay.”

“We don’t have long to speak freely. Haymitch didn’t think there were any cameras or recording devices in here.”

It’s then that I look around the space and realize that we are standing in a utility room. Two big furnaces are nearby. Pipes run along the ceiling. Cleaning materials sit on the shelves that run along one wall. Brooms and mops lean against another wall.

Peeta takes a deep breath. “Haymitch has told me that President Snow intends to make an example of this case to push for the expansion of the reaping. I’ve thought it over. I don’t want to be the reason that every single child in every district grows up fearful. That’s why I’m going to confess to killing the tailor’s wife. Stop the trial before it happens.”

“But you didn’t do it.” I am in shock at his words. “What about the bakery?”

His hand rests on my belly. “Everything will be fine since you’re expecting.”

I glare at him. “You know I’m not. You never did anything but kiss me.” 

He flushes. “I didn’t want to push you into something you’d regret Katniss. Believe me it wasn’t easy to hold back.”

I step back from Peeta furious. How many evenings did I lie awake wishing Peeta would touch me, make me his? And he says he didn’t want me to have regrets? Clearly we have both misunderstood the other.

“And the way things have turned out, maybe it’s better...”

“No.” I am furious as his words become clear. “You’re not leaving me here alone to deal with the mess you’ll leave behind.” Because if he dies, and of course he’ll be executed if he confesses to murder, I’ll never have any kind of life. 

“What happens when it’s apparent that this pregnancy isn’t real?”

Peeta gets a strange look on his face. “Haymitch has admitted that with his connections he could possibly obtain a baby from the Capitol. One born to an unwed girl there.”

Too bad that choice wasn’t available to the tailor. But then I likely wouldn’t even be married to Peeta.

“I won’t allow it,” I snap at him. “It’s as bad as your mother’s suggestion.”

His face goes dark. “What did she say?”

“She wants one of your brothers to impregnate me.”

I have caught his attention. His face goes red. His fists ball up. I may win this argument now.

He takes a few deep breaths as if to steady himself. “Listen to…” he begins

But I am past listening. “If you confess to murder, then I’ll say I was in on it too.”

The color that had stained Peeta’s cheeks only a moment before is gone. He is pale as a ghost.

“I even had reason to do it – she shut down my business.”

“Your illegal business. You can’t mention that and you know it. That’s a whole other crime with consequences just as serious as murder.”

“I can and I will mention it.” I bite my lip in an attempt to keep my emotions in check. A crazy memory flashes into my mind, the last stanza of a song called The Hanging Tree, a song my father used to sing when I was little. 

 

Are you, are you  
Coming to the tree  
Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me.

 

I wonder if Peeta and I will both end up dead when it is over. 

A knock on the door interrupts us. I startle and Peeta steps toward me and hugs me. My face is buried into his chest and I breathe in his warmth, wondering if it is the last time I’ll do so.

“Don’t give up Peeta,” I plead. “Fight this and I’ll fight with you. I can’t lose you. I lo…”

The door opens before I can say more and Haymitch stands there.

“Sorry to interrupt, but the Peacekeepers are getting suspicious. Cinna needs Peeta back in the prep room now.”

“I’ll think about it,” Peeta mumbles before letting go of me and following Haymitch out.

I try to follow, but Haymitch stops me. “Stay here for another minute or two and then leave. Wait for me at the entrance to the Justice Building. We need to talk.”

When I leave a few minutes later, I head for the entrance. There is a bench just inside the front door. I sit and wait, tapping my foot nervously as I think over Peeta’s revelation.

“Well, well, you’re looking very fetching these days,” a voice calls out. I lift my head. Mr. Dresser is in front of me. “You’re positively glowing.”

He stands over me, like a predator ready to pounce and it is all I can do to keep my composure. Before I can think of a response, Haymitch appears.

“If you’re looking for the prep team, they’re in the committee room,” he tells the tailor. Haymitch reaches for my hand and pulls me up and away.

As soon as we’re out of the building and down the steps, Haymitch begins to speak. “What was that jackass sniffing around for?” 

I shake my head. I don’t want to talk about the tailor. His odd stalking behavior rattles me.

“Spit it out,” Haymitch insists. 

“He told me I was glowing.”

Haymitch snorts. 

“It wasn’t the first time either.”

Haymitch stops and reaches for my arm. “Is he harassing you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Intimidating you, pressuring you?”

I think back to Mr. Dresser’s behavior. Offering to meet privately with me about the deerskin and keeping it secret from his wife. Showing up at my front door after Peeta was arrested. Today’s comments.

“I don’t know if I’d call it that.”

“He’s clearly done something. You looked about ready to jump out of your skin back in the Justice Building.”

“He’s accused my husband of murder,” I retort. 

“No, the nation of Panem has accused your husband of murder,” Haymitch corrects me. 

I dismiss the topic. “What did you need to talk to me about?”

“Did the boy tell you of his plan to confess?”

“Yes.”

“And did you persuade him to stay in the fight?”

“I tried.”

“Well, I hope you convinced him because he’s making a big mistake if he gives up before we even start.”

“Why would you tell him you could get a baby for me?” I am curious. Why would Haymitch offer up that piece of information if he wanted Peeta to stay in the fight?

“Even with the upcoming change in the housing policy, he is worried about you. Scared that if he is gone, his mother might kick you out of the bakery altogether. He thought if you continued the fake pregnancy and obtained a child, his mother would be forced into accepting you simply to avoid social repercussions.” Haymitch pauses and gives me a piercing look. “He’s trying to protect you, Katniss.”

It doesn’t surprise me that Peeta would take the noble route; try to save me and all the children in the districts, as well. I only wish we hadn’t been interrupted. I was about to tell Peeta that I loved him. It was the last arrow in my quiver and likely he’ll never know. If all our future communications are to be recorded, he might think I’m saying it only because of the cameras.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

District Twelve is flooded with people from the Capitol. Oddly dressed people with tattoos. People with hair colors found nowhere in nature, like purple and pink and orange. Precious stones inlaid in their skin. Clothing that shows more skin than anyone would care to see. Faces stretched and contorted and puffed up in odd ways to mask natural aging.

I only see Peeta once more. Our behavior is circumspect because Haymitch has warned the both of us that our actions and conversations are being recorded. We hug and proclaim how much we miss the other, but nothing else is mentioned. I can’t tell if Peeta’s changed his mind, but since he hasn’t confessed so far, I take it as a good sign.

Most of my time is spent at the bakery. Business booms with the Capitol customers in Town. Twelve has no restaurants and no hotels. The television commentators, prep team, camera operators, and the others who are needed to pull off a national television event are camped out in the empty houses in Victor’s Village. 

For that reason, Haymitch asks if he can stay at my house in Town. I want to say “no,” but it seems beyond selfish to do so. He is defending Peeta at no cost after all.

“There’s hardly any furniture in the house,” I warn him.

“I can take care of that,” he says. He hires a few youths from the Seam to carry a bed and dresser, along with several other pieces, a sofa, a dining room table with four chairs, as well as a couple of floor lamps and a stack of never-used linens and towels. They must come from another section of his house because they look to be in good condition, unlike the furniture in his front room.

He takes over the bedroom I thought would house Prim when Peeta and I first moved in; when I thought my mother was near death.

The house begins to resemble a home. And while I don’t want Haymitch around, having a houseguest forces me to live a more regimented life. I stop sleeping on the closet floor. I eat regular meals. I shower daily and take care with my clothing, wearing the lovely outfits Cinna has provided. Sadly, the stylist has returned to the Capitol, although his assistants have remained behind.

Haymitch can be negative and sarcastic, which is annoying, probably because we’re so similar. Even though he’s long out of the Seam, those traits still survive. 

Fortunately he doesn’t drink. I would kick him out if he did. He keeps himself busy, spending most days visiting Peeta or talking with Plutarch, a man larger than even the most well-fed Merchant, about the logistics of the trial.

The evenings are the worse though because we’re both stuck inside together. Haymitch spends a lot of time at the dining table plotting out Peeta’s defense on a long yellow pad of paper. 

Occasionally he lifts his head to ask me questions. I can’t imagine what they have to do with the trial. He wants to know if I’m happy. Does marriage suit me? Do we plan to have a large family?

I shake my head because I hardly know how to answer. I have only just realized the depth of my feelings for Peeta and now he’s been torn from me before I could even act on them. It’s easier not to think about these things than to feel the heartache. 

Oddly, I find myself cooking for the victor. Haymitch tells me not to hunt; he says I am watched. Although I see no evidence of anyone following me, people tell me my picture appears on television daily. Haymitch gives me money to visit Rooba and buy meat sent by train from District 10. I’ve never cooked beef, never even eaten it before. 

The steaks I cook are tough and chewy. Haymitch mocks my efforts and refuses to eat. He tells me to throw the meat away. Then he eats the few stale cheese buns my father-in-law sent home with me. Unwilling to waste food, despite it’s rubbery texture, I eat both steaks. They sit in my stomach like a heavy weight and keep me up half the night. 

Or maybe it’s my thoughts keeping me awake. Anyway, I lie in bed with the lights on and the door closed, and study the painting of the woods Peeta has made for me. I wish myself into that painting. Wish I could take Peeta along and that we could escape into that peaceful scene.

The morning the trial begins is a madhouse. Octavia stops by early to do my makeup. Cameras are outside my house when Haymitch, who wears a gray suit and carries a leather satchel, and I exit. The neighbors line the street to watch us walk past. 

Apparently the trial has been promoted via television advertisements all week. However, Peeta and I don’t own a television so I haven’t seen any of them. Mandatory viewing of the trial will occur in the evening, allowing the Capitol television producers to edit the boring parts away and leave the salacious parts in. Haymitch and I will watch it with my in-laws.

Peeta’s family meets us on the steps of the Justice Building where another camera is set up. Wearing Cinna’s beautiful clothing, the Mellarks look as if they are ready to attend a gala event, not the trial of their son and brother. 

My mother-in-law complains about having to close the bakery. My father-in-law glares at her.

We go inside the double doors and are led by Peacekeepers to the largest room in the building. 

Chairs have been set up to face a desk where a Capitol judge will sit. Haymitch says he will make the final determination over Peeta’s fate.

A wide aisle divides the chairs into two groups. Long tables head each grouping of chairs. 

Cameras are in place. One faces the judge, while a second faces the chairs. The men operating the equipment are so similar in size and appearance with sandy hair and beards, that I think they are brothers. Like Cinna, their appearance and attire is modest by Capitol standards. 

Plutarch carries a stack of notebooks. He hands one to Haymitch as the victor sits down behind the long table on the left side of the room. A puzzled look crosses Haymitch’s face. 

“What’s this?” he shouts to Plutarch. 

But the Gamemaker has moved on. 

Haymitch thumbs through the book. “Oh no,” he mumbles, flipping through the pages faster. 

Mr. Dresser and the Capitol’s prosecutor arrive. The man, with poufy pink hair that is tied in the back with a ribbon, holds a notebook similar to the one Plutarch gave Haymitch. He and Mr. Dresser sit at the table on the right side of the room. 

Although it is May already and warm, Mr. Dresser wears a shirt with a fur collar. As soon as he sits, he turns and smiles at me. His hand reaches for his collar and he strokes it for a moment before he winks.

I look away quickly, fearful that he is going to bring up my crimes as well. I think I was right about that Hanging Tree song.

I sit with Peeta’s family in the first row just behind Haymitch. Mr. Mellark is on my right; Delly on my left. 

Delly leans over to whisper. “It will be all right Katniss.” She squeezes my hand and gives me a reassuring glance when I look at her. I try to smile, but inside I am sick. 

I turn around and see many Merchants in attendance as well. I suspect most of the shops have closed for the day. My mother and Prim sit toward the back of the room at Haymitch’s suggestion. 

Once the room is full, Peacekeepers lead Peeta in. He’s dressed in white, looking like a sacrificial lamb. I think back to his white baker’s garb on our wedding day. I bite my lip to keep from crying out at the unfairness of it all. He sits beside Haymitch. 

As soon as he is seated he turns to look at me. He gives me an imperceptible shake of his head and a small smile. It eases me considerably. I think it means that Peeta will fight back against this false charge.

The last to enter the room is the Capitol judge. He has white hair that stands tall. I suspect it’s a wig; I’ve never seen real hair that could do that. He wears a black robe. He sits down on a large throne-like chair that has been moved behind the desk and strikes a wooden gavel onto the desktop to call the trial to start.

The judge opens the trial by asking Peeta to stand. 

“Peeta Mellark, you are charged with the crime of murdering Theodora Dresser,” he reads from the notebook sitting on the desk. “What do you have to say?”

The judge looks directly into the camera as he speaks, not glancing at Peeta at all. 

“Not guilty,” Peeta says, his voice loud and firm. He turns his head again to look at me. I catch his eye and give him an encouraging smile. In the corner of the room I spy two screens, side-by-side airing what the cameras are recording. 

It is a few seconds delay, but onscreen I watch Peeta turn to me and see myself smile back to him. Immediately I lower my head, confused and embarrassed about seeing myself on that monitor. 

The next person to speak is the Capitol’s prosecutor. He is supposed to convince the judge that Peeta killed Mrs. Dresser. It’s hard to take him seriously though. He is dressed almost outlandishly as the judge.

“Your honor,” he says. “I will prove to you that Mr. Peeta Mellark did indeed kill Theodora Dresser through poison. The government of Panem will show that he had ample reason to do so.” He sits down abruptly.

Haymitch stands up. “Mr. Peeta Mellark is innocent of the charges against him. He has been falsely accused of this crime.” 

A booming voice calls out. “Cut.” Plutarch runs down the aisle wearing some kind of headgear that covers his ears and has a small microphone close to his mouth. 

Everyone looks in Plutarch’s direction.

“We need more excitement. More drama. A man’s life is at stake here. Now take two.”

I wonder for a moment if Plutarch will make everyone start over from the beginning to get it right.

Instead he goes back to the sideline and the judge clears his throat. The Capitol prosecutor stands again and calls Mr. Dresser to the front. A simple chair sits beside the judge’s desk. It faces the audience.

Mr. Dresser leaves his seat. Before he sits in the chair, the judge asks him to raise his right hand and recite an oath to speak only the truth. After pledging his honesty, Mr. Dresser sits down and begins to tell a series of lies. 

It’s a bizarre story he weaves, like something straight out of a sleazy Capitol television show. He claims that his wife was having an extramarital relationship with Peeta. That when he found out about it, he demanded Peeta stop. There was a fight and Mr. Dresser caused blows to Peeta resulting in visible bruises. The tailor accepted his wife’s profuse apology for her dalliance, but then she became distraught when she heard of Peeta’s marriage, especially when she heard from Peeta’s mother that I was expecting. Because, as Mr. Dresser claims, his wife had recently learned she was infertile. 

He claims that Peeta killed his wife because she was telling everyone about the affair, and Peeta was worried the news would get back to me, his naïve pregnant wife. 

Mr. Dresser stops speaking and stares at me at this point. I lower my head and don’t dare look at the camera.

The prosecutor stops the tailor at different points in his tale, to ask for clarification. Mr. Dresser answers all his questions. He says he loved his wife regardless that she was infertile. That he’d gladly lose his business if only she was back at his side. 

At the end of his story, I imagine everyone outside of District 12 would likely think it could be true, especially at the end when the prosecutor holds up a wedding photo of Mrs. Dresser taken many years ago. She was a great beauty when she was young. 

The tailor ends his statement with a shocking demand. If justice is to be truly served then Peeta should be executed for his crime and the government of Panem should require me to marry him so that he will have an heir to his business.

Loud gasps are heard at his proposition. I sneak a look at the monitor. The screen is split. One camera on Mr. Dresser, the other on Peeta. Peeta’s face is pale, but his lips form a thin angry line. 

It’s Haymitch’s turn to question the tailor. He stands and walks toward him.

“How old was your wife when she died?”

“Forty.”

The victor holds up a picture to show Mr. Dresser.

“Is this a photo of your wife?” 

The tailor nods.

Haymitch puts the photo in front of the camera. The picture is fairly recent and a true representation of Mrs. Dresser before her death.

“In what alternative universe would a twenty-year-old man be having love affair with this woman?” Haymitch exclaims. “Unless he was completely blind…” 

A close up of Peeta appears on the split screen opposite the picture.

There are snickers throughout the room. Shaming the dead, however, does not appear to go over well with Mr. Dresser’s counselor. He jumps up and interrupts Haymitch and appeals to the judge to erase that comment from the record.

Plutarch gets involved as well. He stops the cameras, walks up to Haymitch and whispers into his ear. 

“But you said you wanted excitement,” Haymitch mutters.

Plutarch shakes his head. “Not that.”

“Action” is called yet again. 

“What evidence do you have of your wife’s affair?” Haymitch asks the tailor.

“She confessed to it.”

Haymitch snorts. “That’s what you say, but we only have your word.” He pauses for a moment. Maybe it’s to add drama. “I’d like to suggest that there is another triangle here right in front of us. A triangle living only in the imagination of one man.”

I lean forward in my seat, baffled as to what Haymitch is referring.

“You sir, have wangled your way into the middle of Peeta and Katniss Mellark’s marriage.”

Loud snickers are heard throughout the room.

My face burns. I worry that Haymitch will recount our private conversation about the tailor harassing me.

But he doesn’t. Because Plutarch doesn’t give him a chance.

“Cut” the Gamemaker says. “Everyone break for lunch. Be back in an hour.”

Peacekeepers lead Peeta from the room. The room empties until only Haymitch, the Mellark family, and Plutarch remain.

“Look Haymitch,” Plutarch begins. “I told you to stick to the script. I don’t mind some improvising, but you’re taking things in an altogether different direction.”

“Script,” my mother-in-law shrieks. “I thought this was a fair trial.” 

Plutarch pulls himself up to his full height. “Madame, good television is always scripted.”

She glares at Haymitch for a moment. 

“Why did we need this drunk then? Anyone could have read a script.” 

“I only found out about the script when I got here this morning,” Haymitch interjects. “If I’d known about the damn script I could have stayed drunk and not wasted a week preparing for a trial.”

But Mrs. Mellark doesn’t pay any attention to Haymitch. She squints at Plutarch. “Then you already know the outcome.”

Plutarch nods, as she rushes forward and grabs the notebook off the table.


	10. Chapter 10

Plutarch snatches the notebook from Mrs. Mellark’s hands and in the process she stumbles backwards.

She catches herself and shrieks loudly. “Keep your hands off me.”

In spite of the irony of her outcry, Rye and Phyl rush forward to defend their mother.

“It was an accident,” Plutarch says quickly as he fiddles with the notebook, staring nervously at the two former wresting champions of District 12. While he may be taller and larger, they are younger and as muscular as he is doughy.

“This isn’t right,” Mr. Mellark protests. “You falsely accused our son of murder. And for what? A fictional crime show?”

“It’s not exactly fictional,” Plutarch tries to explain. “It’s based on some facts. Technically it would fall under the category of docu-drama.”

“I don’t care what you call it,” my father-in-law shouts. “You’ve destroyed my boy’s good name and taken away his freedom.”

“And lost our business a great deal of money,” my mother-in-law adds. 

I think Mrs. Mellark forgets that business has been booming since Peeta’s arrest as everyone comes to the bakery seeking gossip about the case. In addition, the bakery has been quite popular among the Capitol visitors, who she charges at least three times the standard price for baked goods. If anything, the Mellarks have made a decent profit from the situation. 

Haymitch has not said a word, but now he gets right into the Gamemaker’s face. 

“So how did I get recruited into playing a role on this television show?” 

Plutarch takes a step back. “You’re the most famous man in Twelve,” Plutarch explains. “We needed a recognizable face to attract Capitol viewers. Beside you have a license to practice law. It makes everything so much more believable.”

Haymitch shakes his head in disgust.

As for me, I want to throw myself at Plutarch and pummel him for what he has done to Peeta, to the way he has taken him from me. If I had my bow with me, I would shoot him through his paunchy hide and strike him directly in his miniscule heart. 

Outnumbered by a hostile crowd, Plutarch babbles. “You shouldn’t take it so personally. Look at all the national publicity your family has gotten. And new clothes, too.”

No one speaks. The tension in the room grows and beads of sweat form on Plutarch’s forehead. He puts his hand up to wipe them away. 

“Look I didn’t want to tell you how the trial ends; I wanted to film a genuine reaction, but if you’re all this upset, I’ll let you in on the finale.” Plutarch’s voice lowers. “Peeta is found not guilty.”

While everyone remains grim, the tension in the room dissolves immediately.

“There’s still the matter of lost income,” Mrs. Mellark begins.

Her husband throws her a nasty look.

“We can talk about that later,” Plutarch says. “I have some calls to make right now.” He hands the script back to Haymitch. 

Before Plutarch leaves though, he asks the Mellarks to keep the outcome a secret. “The best thing about the Capitol ignoring Twelve all these years is that you people still have a little spontaneity. The audience eats that up. It makes for good television.” 

“Like hell I’m keeping it secret,” Rye says, when the Gamemaker has left the room. Phyl nods in agreement.

Haymitch frowns. “Just be careful. Your brother isn’t free yet. Scripts can be rewritten.”

Mrs. Mellark leaves with her sons and their wives in search of the catered luncheon the Capitol provides.

“Is that really how the script ends?” my father-in-law asks Haymitch.

The victor frowns. “I never read to the end of it.” He flips the notebook open to the back. “Yes, right here.” He points to the page. “Peeta is declared not guilty.”

Haymitch rubs his head. “I need to warn you though, they’re lifting up the carpet and dragging out the dirt. You and the missus don’t come out smelling so nice.”

“What do you mean?” Mr. Mellark asks, but the look on his face makes me think he knows exactly what Haymitch is referring to.

“The contract your wife negotiated between Peeta and the Dressers for one thing, and I’ll have to address those bruises Peeta had. Plenty of people in the district saw them. We both know they didn’t come from a fight with the tailor.

My father-in-law adverts his eyes from Haymitch, probably from embarrassment.

“It’s also likely that the television analysis will mention your wife’s time in the Community Home.”

Mr. Mellark is pale. “Why would they bring that up? It has nothing to do with the trial.”

Haymitch shakes his head. “It pushes along the agenda Snow is looking to promote.”

My father-in-law nods. “She’s not going to be happy, but I’ll warn her.”

He leaves and I am left alone with Haymitch. “Mrs. Mellark lived in the Community Home?” I can hardly believe it.

“I take it no one’s told you much about the family you married into.”

I shake my head puzzled, although not really surprised. I’m only just learning about the secrets in my own family.

“She lived there a short time, just a couple of months. Her parents took sick and died right before she graduated from school. The housing policy had just gone into effect so she couldn’t stay with her older brother because he wasn’t married yet.”

A brother? “Who is her brother?”

“Oliver Finch, the owner of the Junk shop.”

The man who sold Peeta silverware at a huge discount? Peeta never mentioned that they were related. I wonder if he even knows.

Haymitch continues his story. “She was beat up during her time in the Community Home.”

“Why?” My eyes open wide.

“Because she was from Town. Most of the kids in there were from the Seam. I think your father-in-law married her more out of compassion than any real affection. He’d just lost his sweetheart to someone else and he was in bad shape too.”

The story shocks me, yet it has a ring of truth about it. Because I could imagine Peeta doing the very same thing, sacrificing his future to rescue someone.

“As soon as they wed, she began popping out kids. She was determined to keep that bakery in the family, determined to put as much distance between herself and the Community Home. She’s even managed to get two of her sons in position to inherit other families’ businesses. For a woman who started in a bad spot, she’s done well.”

I’m puzzled though. “If she was treated so badly, beaten and all, why is she so mean? She hit her children regularly. I would think she’d treat them better.”

Haymitch winces. “Well you know what they say, `hurting people hurt people’.”

“That’s no excuse.” I snap.

“It’s not meant to be. It’s an explanation.” 

I don’t think it’s a very good explanation, but at this point I have more pressing things to think on.

“We have to let Peeta know that the trial isn’t real,” I tell Haymitch. My poor husband. I’ve been tortured enough; what must he be feeling?

“I’ve been thinking the same myself,” Haymitch says. “But for now, let’s get something to eat. “It will probably be a long afternoon.”

A table has been set up with lunch in a nearby room. The production crew and Capitol cast, as I now think of them, along with Peeta’s family are sitting in small groups eating. Even Mr. Dresser is there, eating alongside the prosecutor. I turn my back to him. Only Peeta is missing. 

Haymitch and I fill our plates with bread, cheese, sliced meats, and fruits. We join Peeta’s family who are nearly done with their meal.

I ponder the information Haymitch shared about my mother-in-law. I’d never given much thought to the reason she ended up the way she is -- greedy, manipulative, spiteful, and violent even. Is her unhappy history the reason that her husband and sons put up with her behavior? 

I almost feel sorry for her until I remember Peeta’s bruises on our wedding night. Remember the contract she negotiated with the Dressers. Think about her exaggerated and misleading comments about my mother. No, I can’t accept her actions despite the adversities she may have experienced. Everyone faces hardship of one sort or another, but there comes a moment when a person must let go of the sufferings of the past. Surely, it’s immoral to expect recompense from people who are not responsible for the original pain.

Plutarch appears and calls an end to the meal. We all return to the courtroom and wait while he talks individually with the camera operators, the prosecutor, the judge, and even Haymitch.

Merchants return to attend the afternoon session. Probably more than attended in the morning because extra chairs are brought in. I wonder if Rye and Phyl have spread the word about the true nature of this “so-called” trial. 

After nearly thirty minutes of waiting, Plutarch is ready to restart the filming. Two Peacekeepers escort Peeta inside.

Peeta’s eyes are on me as he enters; his expression is solemn. I want to jump up and tell him not to worry because nothing is real. Haymitch leans close and whispers something, then passes him a slip of paper. I hope he’s telling him that the trial is all for show.

Haymitch continues to cross-examine Mr. Dresser. He holds the script in his hand while he speaks, occasionally glancing down at it. However, he must go off it several times because Plutarch calls “cut” frequently.

The victor gets Mr. Dresser to admit to the poor health of his wife for the past several months. When the prosecutor interrupts and calls it “irrelevant,” and the judge agrees, the audience begins to boo and hiss. I think they are tired of the interruptions.

Plutarch calls his final “Cut” around three. He needs time to edit his material. Haymitch grabs my arm before I walk out with the Mellarks. 

“Plutarch wants some footage of you and Peeta.”

I frown, but follow Haymitch to another room where two Peacekeepers stand watch.

“There are recording devices inside sweetheart,” he says before I am pushed inside.

Peeta is seated and springs up when he sees me. 

“Katniss.”

I fall into his arms. 

A photographer from the Capitol take posed pictures of us. It is torture to sit next to my husband, to hold his hand, to stare into his eyes and kiss his lips while we are on display for all of Panem.

I’m not sure what was written on the paper Haymitch slid toward Peeta, not sure if he’s been informed, but I desperately want reassure him that he has nothing to worry about. Everything will work out. But because we aren’t alone the best I can do is spell out letters on his arm in plain site of everyone. N-O-T R-E-A-L.

He gives me a curious glance and I hope with all my heart that he understands what I’m trying to tell him.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Haymitch is right about the cameras. Footage of our photo shoot is included in the mandatory viewing of the trial that evening.

It’s embarrassing to watch myself kissing Peeta on television with his family surrounding me. 

“Look at that lover boy,” Rye laughs. Phyl joins in.

“They’re newly married Rye,” Delly chides. She reaches for my shoulder to give me reassurance. 

My mother-in-law snorts loudly.

Fortunately Haymitch is there with me. He talks loudly during the kissing portion and I’m glad for the distraction.

As selected parts of the trial are shown, Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith interrupt to add colorful commentary. 

They make a big to-do over Haymitch being the district’s only victor, and then they go into a detailed description of the social distinctions in Twelve, the wealthy Townspeople versus the poor miners who live in the Seam.

“Didn’t Haymitch Abernathy come from the Seam?” Claudius asks Caesar.

“He did, as do almost all of the tributes he mentors,” Caesar points out.

“Why is that?” asks Claudius.

“Likely because the Community Home in Twelve is full of children from the Seam. Their parents die off early due to the poor living conditions in that section of the district.”

I look toward my mother-in-law to note her reaction. Her face has taken on a steely grimace.

I expect they will mention her name now, but they don’t.

“It’s a shame the tributes are limited to residents of the Community Home,” Claudius muses. “Imagine if Peeta was reaped when he was of age. A big, strong, good-looking fellow, like that. He would have been a fine contender in The Hunger Games.”

“He’s certainly photogenic,” Caesar agrees.

“What is this nonsense about?” Mr. Mellark turns to Haymitch. “This has no relevance to the trial at all.”

“They’re setting the stage for Snow’s policy changes.” 

The banter between the hosts ends and we are back to watching bits of the trial. 

Before the show is over, Claudius asks Caesar how long the legal proceedings will take.

“It should wrap up in a few more days,” Caesar says. “There is a special treat for the people of Twelve, at the end of it too,” he hints mysteriously. 

“Oh do tell,” Claudius gushes. “You know I’m not good at waiting.”

Caesar grins. “Claudius, do you think all our friends here can keep a secret?”

“I feel quite certain of it,” says Claudius. 

“President Snow is planning his first ever visit to District Twelve.”

“Is that true?” My father-in-law turns to Haymitch.

Haymitch nods. “Plutarch mentioned it this afternoon. He’s timing the ending of the trial with the appearance of Snow. The president is going to give a speech in which he revokes the housing policy and announces the expansion of tributes for The Hunger Games.”

“So he’s really going through with it?” Rye asks. “Changing the rules of the reaping?” He exchanges a quick glance with Delly, and then wraps his arm around his wife, pulling her toward him. A tear falls down her cheek and she puts her hand up to wipe it away. 

Haymitch eyes Delly. He turns to me, a strange glint in his eye. Embarrassed I put my hand to my side. I’d been absentmindedly rubbing my hand across my padded midsection. The fabric of Cinna’s dress is so soft that touching it soothes me.

It crosses my mind that Delly might be expecting. Of course they’d both be upset. What parent wouldn’t be? But they don’t have to worry for at least twelve years. I could lose my sister to the reaping next month. The thought makes me sick.

“Why travel all the way to Twelve?” my father-in-law asks. “Why not give the speech in the Capitol?”

“He’s been criticized for years that he’s distanced himself too much from the people,” Haymitch says. “Twelve is probably the only district where he’d be somewhat safe. Our population is small and as those two jackanapes just pointed out, we’re not a united district.”

“What does it matter if we’re united?” I ask.

“If people would pull together, Panem would have taken down that monster years ago.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I am dejected when we return to my house. Even though I know Peeta will be released, I’m sick over thoughts of losing Prim. The mental exhaustion fatigues me, so I’m surprised when Haymitch asks me to make him coffee so he can stay up late and prepare for tomorrow. He sits at the dining table with the script and his yellow pad side by side.

“Why are you spending time on that?” I ask him. “Plutarch already said Peeta will be released.”

Haymitch shakes his head. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in The Hunger Games it’s that the real enemy is not the person in the arena trying to kill you.” 

What are you talking about?” I am baffled. 

“Peeta’s enemy isn’t that fool tailor, or his foppish prosecutor, or that peacock of a judge. And Plutarch could care less about any of it. He’s only concerned about advancing in his career,” Haymitch explains. “The real enemy is Snow and his reign of terror.”

“So what? It’s not like Peeta can stop Snow.”

“By himself no, but Peeta’s situation mirrors that of every person in every district – ensnared in a trap of which they can’t break free. I want to speak to people about that trap. Give them hope.

“Won’t Plutarch edit what you say?” 

“Of course,” he said. “But you forget. I have a live audience, too.”

The Merchants attending the trial? What can they possibly do? How can they change Panem?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I am sure my brothers-in-law have been talking because even more Merchants appear the second day.

The prosecutor finishes presenting his case mid-morning. Plutarch calls for a break before Haymitch takes over.

The victor has a challenging job, following the script as best he can so that Plutarch is satisfied, yet adding enough additional information to drive the point home to the Merchants who have shut up their businesses to attend the trial, that Peeta has been framed and that it is all a farce. Although I must admit, I can’t figure out what that will accomplish since Plutarch has already promised Peeta will be freed.

Haymitch spends the morning talking about the different varieties of sumac. Most are safe. The berries can be ground down to make a spice. The leaves can be used as a dying agent. However, poisonous sumac is another matter. Even touching it can cause a deadly rash, unless one wears gloves. Ingesting it can kill. Haymitch gives a detailed physical description of the poisonous variety and even mentions where some of the bushes are located in District 12, close to the fence in the meadow.

He finishes his lecture about the plant by pulling out a copy of the report provided by the Capitol laboratory. The berries found inside the bread the tailor bought were not cooked. They appeared to be put in after the bread was baked which clearly points out that anyone who touched the bread could have poisoned it.

Plutarch calls “Cut.”

The room buzzes with conversation. While Haymitch speaks with Plutarch, I hear talk behind me filled with anger and frustration. 

I strain to listen. Do people think Peeta is guilty of this crime? His name never comes up. 

Instead differing theories of Mrs. Dresser’s death are discussed. The first is that no crime was ever committed. That Mrs. Dresser died of natural causes and in his grief the tailor devised a plan to steal the pregnant wife of another Merchant to gain an heir. 

The second is that Mr. Dresser poisoned his wife to get out of his marriage. There are whispers that he has been more than friendly with some of his female customers. After his actions towards me, I’m not surprised.

The third theory is that Mrs. Dresser killed herself because she was infertile, as the tailor claimed during his questioning. 

But whatever the cause of Mrs. Dresser’s death, the Merchants are convinced that the Capitol exploits this matter. Questions are raised about the banter between Claudius and Caesar during last night’s mandatory viewing, the talk of the Community Home and the reaping. The attention paid to the division between Town and Seam. Snow’s planned visit to Twelve. 

Peeta is in the witness chair after we return from our lunch break. Calmly he explains that he had no relationship with the tailor’s wife. He blushes when questioned about the fertility contract.

It is an awkward topic because it makes him look like a stud animal, like one of the Goat Man’s buck’s we rented to impregnate Lady to keep her milk flowing. 

One of the cameras is pointed at me while he speaks, the other is on Peeta. I try to keep my head down, but occasionally lift it so I can peek at the monitor out of the corner of my eye. 

Delly, who sits next to me squeezes my hand reassuringly. Maybe she shares in my embarrassment or perhaps she’s glad Rye was already wed so his mother could not farm him out as well.

Haymitch questions Peeta about the bruises he bore that were clearly seen by people in Town as they took many days to fade away. Peeta admits to being attacked by his mother when he told her about our marriage. Even though it’s humiliating, it has to be addressed because it counteracts Mr. Dressers’ claim about a fight with Peeta. 

The camera is pointed at Mrs. Mellark while Peeta speaks and when she sees her face on the monitor she screams “Cut” and stands up immediately. 

When her face continues to stay on the screen since the camera operators aren’t taking direction from her, she walks out of the room. My father-in-law follows after her.

Plutarch calls “Cut” at that point and hurries after the two.

The room hums with conversation while Plutarch is outside speaking with my in-laws. 

Oliver Finch, who I now know to be Mrs. Mellark’s brother, stands up to address the crowd. “This is personal business that should be discussed at home not on television.” 

He throws Haymitch a nasty glare and leaves. Others agree and follow him as well. By the time Plutarch returns alone, most of the audience has left.

“What happened?” Plutarch asks Haymitch, as he surveys the near empty room. 

“They were tired of waiting,” the victor says. Haymitch sticks to Plutarch’s script now because he has no one left to impress. Peeta states that he never saw Mrs. Dresser or the tailor on the day she died. He was in the back baking. His mother sold her the loaf of bread.

When Plutarch calls the final “Cut” for the day, Haymitch is through with Peeta. Witnesses will be called first thing tomorrow morning. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Haymitch and I return to my in-laws’ house a second night to watch the show.

“Don’t you have a television at your house?” My mother-in-law rudely questions when we arrive.

I shake my head.

We gather around the television with Rye, Delly, Phyl, Beryl, and my father-in-law. Although it’s technically illegal, my mother-in-law doesn’t watch. She goes down the hallway and shuts herself in one of the bedrooms. I suppose it’s because she expects to look like a fool. 

It’s probably good she avoids the show. Between coverage of Peeta on the witness stand, the show includes snippets on the tailor, the Mellarks, and Peeta’s and my marriage. All of it is slanted in such a way as to emphasize the impact of the onerous housing policy and to stir up anger between Town and Seam.

My mother-in-law’s brief residency in the Community Home is mentioned. Claudius concludes it must be the reason for her “rough” upbringing. He jokingly notes it’s a shame she wasn’t there long enough to be reaped. “With that arm District 12 might have had another victor.”

That comment doesn’t go over well with her family. In fact Mr. Mellark breaks the law and leaves the room at that point to join his wife.

“Do you really need gloves to handle that stuff?” Rye asks after we watch a segment that includes Haymitch’s description of the poisonous variety of sumac. 

“Don’t get any smart ideas boy,” the victor warns.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It’s late when Haymitch and I make it home. I suspect he wants a drink, would do anything for one, but tries for Peeta’s sake to stay sober. 

We enter the house and I offer to make him some chamomile tea. It won’t provide the immediate relaxation a bottle of white liquor could produce, but it will sooth his frayed nerves. I make a cup for myself as well.

We sit in the living room, Haymitch on his sofa and me in the Peeta’s battered armchair drinking tea and discussing the television coverage of the trial.

A pounding on the door startles both of us.

“Are you expecting someone?” Haymitch asks.

“No.” Late-night visitors mean trouble and I don’t need anymore today.

The pounding continues. 

Haymitch stands up. 

“Where are you going?”

“To answer your damn door. I already have a headache.”

I spring up. “It’s my house.” I rush forward to beat Haymitch. “Who is it?” I call out before opening it. 

The pounding stops. 

“Catnip, let me in. We need to talk.” 

It’s Gale. My half-brother.


	11. Chapter 11

I haven’t talked to Gale since his wedding. We’ve never discussed our familial relationship. Why would he be on my doorstep late at night?

I put my hand out to unlock the door.

Haymitch puts his arm against it to block me. “Who is it Katniss?” 

“Gale Hawthorne, my hunting partner.” Well, my former partner.

“Would he be related to Samuel by any chance?”

“Samuel was his father. He died in the mines with my dad.” Except that Samuel is my blood father, but I’m not sharing that information with Haymitch.

“Catnip.” Gale sounds desperate.

Haymitch scowls, but he pulls his arm away. I open the door and Gale enters.

Dark circles hang under his eyes. Flecks of coal dust sit on his clothing. He looks as if he hasn’t slept or bathed in days.

His eyes narrow as he surveys the living room. With the electricity working and Haymitch’s furniture it looks cozy and, no doubt, “rich” to Gale’s way of thinking. Certainly far nicer than the front room of any house in the Seam.

“Done pretty well for yourself marrying the baker’s son. It must be nice being a Merchant now.”

The jealousy in his voice is evident. It makes me sad. It’s not like I married Peeta to better my standard of living. I married him to save Prim. Wouldn’t Gale want the best for me, his half-sister?

“What’d you want boy?” Haymitch asks.

A startled look comes over Gale as he becomes aware of Haymitch’s presence.

“What’s he doing here?” he growls.

Sometimes I wonder that same thing myself. Why did I let Haymitch move in and take over? But I know why. He’s helping Peeta and therefore helping me. Besides without Haymitch around, I’d likely be lying on the floor of my closet inconsolable.

Anyway, it’s none of Gale’s business. We’re relatives and he’s ignored me since his wedding. 

“Never mind,” I tell him, my eyes flashing. “Why are you here?”

“To warn you.” 

“What’s going on?” Haymitch interrupts. 

“Can I speak with you privately Katniss?” 

I register the subtle change from Catnip to Katniss. It’s Gale’s way of saying he’s angry with me. 

Well I can be just as mean back. “No, whatever you have to say you can say in front of Haymitch.”

Gale glares at my houseguest. “If any of this gets passed along to the Capitol, if anyone disrupts our plan, I’m personally coming after you. Don’t think your victor’s status means anything to me.”

“What is it Gale?” I break in. “Why are you here?”

“I came to warn you to stay away from the platform when Snow gives his speech. The miners are going to blow it up.”

I gasp in disbelief. “But you’ll kill everyone on it, probably even people in the crowd watching.” How many other people will Gale condemn to death? 

Gale waves his hand arrogantly. “So a few Merchants die. Does it matter?”

I step back shocked at his reckless plan.

“Are you looking to commit suicide?” Haymitch asks. He reaches for Gale’s shoulders.

Gale pushes Haymitch’s hands away, and steps back.

“Let go of me you stupid drunk. How many times have you got close enough to take him out? To do something that would end the misery that all of Panem lives under. Yet you haven’t done anything. Instead you’ve taken two kids from this district every year to the Capitol to get slaughtered.”

Gale goes on to recite a litany of things wrong with the Capitol. It’s a long list and I’ve heard it before. Still with all his many complaints he doesn’t even mention the housing policy, likely because the brunt of it falls on the Merchant population. It hasn’t affected Gale at all.

Haymitch lets Gale rant, but once it’s over he rushes him. Pushes Gale right up against the door. Haymitch gets his face in close. I never would have imagined that middle-aged man to have so much strength. But of course he won The Hunger Games.

“You have no idea what you’re doing,” the victor says. “Of the lengths the Capitol will go to punish you and your family and all of the other miners. Hell, if someone found out you were even having this conversation you’d be guilty of treason. Look what they did to your father.”

Gale’s face is flushed and I think he’s ready to throw Haymitch across the room, but at the victor’s last statement, he goes pale.

“The Capitol killed my dad?” His voice is hoarse.

I am stunned myself. “It was a mine explosion, wasn’t it?”

Haymitch loosens his grip on Gale and turns toward me. “No one knows for sure. But most of the miners who died were known for their seditious talk.” 

Was my father a rebel? It seems hard to believe that the man who was so tender with my mother and my sister and I could be thinking about or maybe even plotting to overthrow the government of Panem. 

Gale pushes Haymitch from him and steps to the side so his back is not against the door. A small smile appears on his face. I think he takes pride in the idea that he is following in his father’s footsteps.

Haymitch must notice his expression as well because he comments on it immediately. “Dying for a noble cause isn’t all it’s cut out to be. What will your family do if you’re gone?”

Gale’s face darkens. He’s married now, with a child on the way. I’m sure he still helps Hazelle financially.

“So we should do nothing then? Let Snow continue to ruin our lives?” Gale looks at me. “I’d think you’d be on our side Katniss after what’s been done to your husband. But then there’s a story going around that Peeta is getting off.”

Rye and Phyl must have been talking a lot if word has reached the Seam. When I don’t respond, Gale smiles smugly. 

“So it’s true. I guess the other rumor is true as well then, that Snow is going to change the rules for the reaping starting next month. That he means to include all kids in it, not just those in the Community Home. I can’t go down without a fight, not with Rory and Vick’s life at stake. Not with…” 

I suspect he thinks of his child that Leevy carries in her belly, but he doesn’t mention it. Maybe since he’s been married such a short time and she is several months along. “I can’t believe you wouldn’t fight to save Prim,” he says nastily.

His comment infuriates me because I married to save her, but the anger behind it also scares me. He is too rash.

“Look, you have every reason to be upset,” Haymitch says. “But there’s a lot going on that you’re not aware of. The miners aren’t the only ones in Twelve unhappy with Snow. The Merchants don’t like him either.”

Gale smirks.

“There’s even people in the Capitol who hate him” Haymitch continues. “Why don’t you let one of those other groups take him out? Because it will be done, mark my words.”

“I’m not sitting around and waiting any longer.” Gale throws a hateful glance at the victor. “I just wanted to warn you Katniss.”

“No, Gale. Don’t do it.” I wrap my arms around him to give him a brotherly hug.

His arms go around my back, pulling me tight and for just a moment I wonder what it would have been like if we weren’t related, if I had wed Gale instead. Immediately I know it would have been wrong. My life would be one of misery. I want no part of Gale’s fire, kindled with rage and hatred.

As I pull away, my heart is pierced with longing. I want Peeta back in my arms. 

“I need to go now,” Gale says. “Leevy’s expecting me.” He gives me one last look and leaves.

As soon as the door is shut, Haymitch slams his fist against it.

“That damn fool. He’ll ruin everything. He’s as impulsive as his father.”

Irritated over the entire situation, I speak without thinking. “Gale’s father is mine too.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I want to take them back. This is not a topic I want to discuss with Haymitch. It’s none of his business.

He gives me a strange look. “Is that what you’ve been told?”

My face grows red. I don’t answer but he keeps staring at me until I am compelled to respond. “Only recently,” I explain. “I didn’t believe it at first. But my mother confirmed it.”

Haymitch snorts. “That’s what she thinks.”

I narrow my eyes. “How in the hell would you know anything about this?”

“Well, you probably won’t believe me, but I was friendly with Samuel Hawthorne, and Glenn Everdeen as well. We were all around the same age and grew up in the Seam together. When I came back after The Hunger Games, things changed. The Capitol killed my family and my girl because of some of the stupid things I said. My friends went on to have lives – girlfriends, and then marriage and children. I didn’t. I started drinking to hold myself together.

“One day I ran into Samuel in the Hob. We got to talking. He stopped by my house in Victor’s Village for a drink. He told me of this deal he’d agreed to, to provide seed for Everdeen’s wife. He didn’t feel right about it.” 

“What?” Haymitch’s matter-of-fact delivery shocks me because it sounds believable.

“You heard me. Samuel Hawthorne refused to do it. But he didn’t know how to get out of it because his wife was pressuring him. She thought his contribution was an act of charity. A good deed to help out a friend.”

He chuckles as if it’s a joke.

“So who…”

“Got your interest now sweetheart?”

I scowl at him. “Whose seed was it?” I snarl.

“Mine.”

My stomach does a flip-flop as I stare into the victor’s face. “That can’t be true. You’re lying. My mother would have told me if it was you.”

“She doesn’t know. Samuel and I agreed to keep it secret, and as far as I know he didn’t tell anyone.”

He certainly didn’t tell Hazelle. “I don’t see how you could pull it off,” I argue. I didn’t pay attention when my mother tried to explain the process because the mechanics of it sicken me, but how exactly could this even be possible?

It’s as if Haymitch can read my mind. “Your mother gave Samuel a container to put his, ah, contribution in. He was to bring it to her while it was still warm. However the contribution he delivered came from me, not him. I don’t know what your mother did with it after that, but you’re here now, so I guess it worked.”

“Why would you do it?”

“All my family was killed off after I won The Hunger Games.” His voice takes on a downcast tone. “I was the last one left in the Abernathy line. And it’s not like I was ever going to get married. I’m the richest man in Twelve, yet it wouldn’t be safe for me to take a wife and have children. The Capitol would be using them to blackmail me in every kind of way. This way I could have a child and the Capitol wouldn’t be the wiser.”

My eyes widen as I consider the idea that Haymitch Abernathy, the only living victor from District 12, the richest man in Twelve, the biggest drunk I’ve ever known, is my father. 

Dumbfounded, I try to make sense of it. Then it hits me hard. What a bad father he’s been. “Some father,” I lash out at him. “Prim and I nearly starved to death when our dad was killed in the mines.”

Haymitch takes on an apologetic look. “I’m sorry about that. I was drinking a lot at the time. I didn’t realize that things were so bad for you.”

I am ready to strike him for his selfishness and ignorance. 

“But I did leave a basket of food by your door.”

I remember that. Someone had set a basket filled with canned goods on our porch shortly after I’d taken up hunting. I’d always wondered who it was. At the time I thought it was Greasy Sae. I had begun to trade with her. I thought maybe she took pity on a scrawny twelve-year-old. 

“Thank you,” I mutter. While I appreciate his kindness, it wasn’t very much.

“You have to understand I couldn’t do more,” Haymitch says. “It would have looked highly suspicious to the Capitol if I was suddenly favoring a dead miner’s family. Especially when the miner had a rebellious bent. Hell, I would have liked to help the Hawthornes, too. Samuel was a friend. The best I could do was to give his wife a job laundering my dirty clothes.”

I shake my head. I’m sure Hazelle appreciated the work, but Haymitch could have done so much more for all of us.

“Regardless of what you think of me, I’ve always had a soft spot in my heart for you. You remind me so much of my mother with your strong-willed determination. You even look a bit like her. The shape of your eyes and the color, well, they’re the same.

“I consider it something of a miracle that the boy found me walking down the street and pulled me in to witness your toasting.”

I remember my surprise at seeing Haymitch in our living room.

“Regardless of how it happened, you picked a fine man to marry. He’s the best of those three Mellark boys. And someday I hope you’ll give me some grandchildren for real.” He glances at my padded midsection. 

“I think I’ll turn in now,” I tell him. I am beyond astounded at what I’ve heard from Haymitch tonight. It will take some time for it to sink in. 

“You do that,” Haymitch says. “I’m going out for a walk. I’ll be back in a while.” 

I panic. “You’re not going to start drinking are you?”

“No,” he says. “I wouldn’t do that to you and Peeta.”

I go into my bedroom, wishing with all my heart that Peeta were here. I want to talk to him about it. Get his opinion on the matter.

I can hardly sleep. My mind is a cluttered mess. Gale’s warning. Haymitch’s revelation. Longing for Peeta. I toss and turn. Hours later I hear my front door open and shut. Haymitch must have walked many miles.

Eventually I fall asleep. I wake up with dark circles. Octavia arrives to make Haymitch and I camera-ready.

“Did you even sleep?” Octavia asks Haymitch. His face is sunk in, his cheeks hollow, his eyes bloodshot. He yawns a lot, even though he’s already had two cups of coffee. Is he worried about the trial? The plot Gale revealed to us last night? Or his own revelations to me?

Octavia fixes him up as best she can before turning to me. She makes small talk. “When are you due?” 

It takes me a minute to realize that she’s talking about my fake pregnancy. I guess Cinna hasn’t told her the truth. I have to count on my fingers nine months from my marriage to do the math. 

She laughs at me. “Oh Katniss, you’re so funny. Everyone in the Capitol is rooting for Peeta to be found innocent and for you both to live happily ever after.”

Apparently she doesn’t know that the trial is scripted either.

“You and Peeta are the most talked about people in the Capitol right now,” she adds, “well, along with the tailor. He’s gotten a good-sized following too. There are many Capitol women who would jump at the chance to become the second Mrs. Dresser.”

My skin crawls at the thought, although I suspect the tailor would be pleased to hear of it.

“Oh, it wouldn’t be allowed of course,” she says. “But the idea of roughing it with men from the districts, appeals to some women.” She lifts one eyebrow and it’s clear what Octavia thinks of those women.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A camera crew is on the street outside the house when Haymitch and I exit to walk to the Justice Building. 

A woman with blue hair shouts questions at us. “What do you think will happen today now that…” 

I stop at first to listen to her question, but Haymitch pushes me along.

“You don’t need to say anything,” he whispers. “They do it to look important.”

When I don’t answer, the woman stops and stands to the side and the camera operator films her while she speaks. I don’t know what she has to report, because neither Haymitch nor I spoke to her, but I guess Haymitch is right. It was all about her anyway.

Overnight a large platform has been erected in front of the Justice Building, similar to the one used on Reaping Day. I wonder where the miners will place the explosives.

A large crowd of Merchants has gathered near it. I think everyone in Town is trying to gain admittance to the trial. Haymitch gets the attention of some Peacekeepers who lead us through the crowd so we can get inside the building.

Plutarch stops us and pulls us aside into a small room. “The trial needs to wrap up this morning.”

“Why?” I exclaim. I look to Haymitch, but he adverts his eyes.

“You haven’t heard?” Plutarch looks surprised. “It’s all over the morning shows.”

“I don’t have a television.”

Plutarch looks surprised that anyone could possibly live without one. “Last night Peacekeepers were tipped off to a plot by some coal miners to assassinate President Snow,” he says. “They were planning to kill him on the platform by setting off explosives they’d stolen from the mines.”

Oh Gale. Oh no. I try to keep my face neutral as if the information were completely new to me.

“Snow wants to get in and out of Twelve before anyone else gets any ideas,” Plutarch explains. “So he pushed up the speech a day.”

“What did they do with the three men they caught?” Haymitch asks calmly. It’s the first time he’s spoken.

Three men? I don’t remember Plutarch giving us a number.

“The Peacekeepers locked them up in the basement,” Plutarch says. “Snow wants them to hang after he gives his speech. He thought it would be a nice finale to the show.”

“Aren’t they being tried?” I choke out.

“This is treason,” Plutarch explains. “An attempt on the president’s life is an attempt on all of Panem.”

“You do realize we’ll have to skip the witnesses’ testimonies and go directly to closing arguments,” Haymitch tells the Gamemaker.

Plutarch nods. “It’s a shame. I was especially looking forward Peeta’s mother’s statement. I think we could have got some choice sound bites from it.”

A faint smile crosses all of our faces. 

“And I was hoping to get some tears from this little mother here,” Plutarch says looking directly at me. 

Tears already fill my eyes as I contemplate Gale’s fate. I blink and reach for Haymitch’s arm to steady myself, my free hand resting on my stomach, to rub the soft fabric of my dress and calm my nerves.

“Katniss are you all right?” Plutarch asks, a crease forming in his forehead. “Is it the baby?”

“Yes, it just moved,” I say sarcastically. 

But Plutarch must be dense because he’s oblivious to the tone in my voice. “That’s so exciting. Maybe it could move later today when you meet the president and he could hold his hand to your stomach and feel it. That would be such a great moment to get on film.”

“I don’t think I can make it move at will,” I tell Plutarch, wondering momentarily at his sanity.

“I’ll talk to you later,” the Gamemaker says, walking off to leave me with Haymitch.

“We have to stop this. Gale is my …” I hesitate at what to call him. He was my hunting buddy and best friend for years. I was almost getting used to thinking of him as my brother when Haymitch squashed that relationship. Despite everything I’d gone through with him though, he is still a long-time friend. 

Haymitch is apologetic. “I know things look bad right now, but I promise it will all work out for good. You’ll see. You’ll just have to trust me on this one.”

Why does everyone keep telling me that?

He walks me to the courtroom, but then he rushes off, leaving me alone, wondering what the hell is going on. The room fills up.

So many Merchants pour into the trial room today that they can’t even sit. They stand along the back wall and the sides of the room. It astounds me that Plutarch would let so many people in, but I suppose he expects it would make the finale look all the more riveting. The low, even sound of murmuring makes me think the mood in the room is tense. Or maybe it’s me. 

Peeta’s family arrives right before he does. All except Rye and Phyl. Delly whispers that they work in the bakery kitchen to prepare food for a reception that will be held for Snow at the Mayor’s house this afternoon.

“Two Peacekeepers are watching them to ensure that nothing is added to the baked goods.”

I put my hand to my mouth to stop the hysterical giggle that threatens to emerge.

Two more Peacekeepers escort Peeta into the room. Even with make-up he looks tired. I can’t begin to imagine what’s he’s going through. I wonder if he’s heard about this latest wrinkle that will shorten the trial.

He catches my eye as he enters and I give him an encouraging smile. I try to remain hopeful. In spite of everything there is one piece of good news. Maybe, just maybe, with the trial finishing today Peeta and I will be together tonight. 

But my mind wanders as the prosecutor cross-examines Peeta. Why is Haymitch acting so mysterious? I have a sick feeling that he was the one that tipped off the miners’ plan to the Peacekeepers. He was gone from the house for hours last night and he even knew the number of men that had been arrested. But I can’t understand why he’d do it. Does he want Gale to die?

The show breaks after the cross-examination. Plutarch calls a short meeting with the judge, Haymitch and the prosecutor. The four men leave the room. 

Without anyone to keep the crowd in check, loud conversations ensue among the audience. I can’t take it any longer. I get up from my seat and rush to Peeta who stands and embraces me.

“It’s almost over,” he murmurs to me. 

“Tonight,” I whisper. “We’ll be together tonight.” I hope I am right.

Suddenly Peeta puts his arms down and gently pushes me away. “The camera is on us.” He tips his head toward the monitor.

“I don’t care.”

“No, Katniss, this is for us, not them.”

I know he’s right. I am sick of all of Panem being a witness to our marriage.

“All right.” I return to my seat, catching a vicious glare from his mother as I do.

The volume of noise in the room increases. It sounds as if a dozen arguments are occurring.

I turn my head to see that people are leaving. 

By the time Plutarch returns, the overflow crowd is gone and there are many empty chairs, as well.

“What happened?” Plutarch asks the camera operator nearest to me.

He shakes his head as if he hasn’t a clue, but clearly something is happening.

Plutarch calls “Action,” and the closing arguments get underway.


	12. Chapter 12

The prosecutor from the Capitol is quite dramatic in the delivery of his closing argument. He stares directly into the camera, waving his arms around. His voice goes up at the end of his sentences in true Capitol fashion. He enunciates some words so clearly, especially those that have a “p” or a “t,” in them that he is continually spitting. 

Haymitch’s delivery is plainer, although he plays to the camera as well, with a folksy cadence to his voice. It is a persona he’s cultivated after years in the public spotlight.

When it is over, the judge speaks. He has talked little over the past two days. Instead of giving a verdict though, freeing Peeta like we all expect, he says that President Snow will announce the results of the trial in a speech to be broadcast from District 12 tonight.

My heart races at this further delay. I’m terrified that Snow will call Peeta guilty. That my husband will be executed tonight alongside Gale. Taking a deep breath, I focus on Haymitch’s promise that everything will work out. I cling to that thought.

“Cut. That’s a wrap,” Plutarch calls out. “Everyone not involved directly in this case can go.”

The few people still in attendance leave. Throwing me a nervous smile, Peeta is escorted out by Peacekeepers. The Mellark family and Mr. Dresser remain, along with Haymitch, the prosecutor, and the judge. 

Once the doors are closed, Plutarch gathers everyone together. We stand around him in a semi-circle.

“President Snow will be arriving in a little over an hour by hovercraft,” the Gamemaker says. “He’ll be meeting with the Mayor first for a brief reception. The speech is scheduled to begin at six. The executions of his attempted assassins will follow.”

I catch Haymitch’s eye. “It will be all right,” he mouths. 

I wrap my arms across my chest and take a deep breath to steady myself. 

“So will my wife’s killer see justice tonight?” The tailor wears a smug expression. He turns toward me and the rest of Peeta’s family, giving us a toothy smile.

What is Mr. Dresser talking about? Doesn’t he know how this farce is supposed to end? Hasn’t he seen the script?

Plutarch doesn’t answer him because my mother-in-law is already badgering the Gamemaker. She takes a step forward causing Plutarch to take a quick step backwards.

“Why are you waiting to announce the verdict? She begins. “You said…” 

Plutarch coughs loudly. “We had to hold off because of the viewer voting in the Capitol. It runs until six.”

“Voting?” My father-in-law yells. “What voting? You told us that everything, including the ending, was already scripted.”

The tailor’s forehead wrinkles. “What’s this about a script?”

“The entire trial was scripted.” My father-in-law tells the tailor. “Peeta will be declared not guilty.”

Mr. Dresser’s eyebrows rise. “What? I don’t understand. I was told…” He turns to the prosecutor who was pleading his case.

That puffed-up man nods. “I was lucky to get cast on this show. Do you know how hard it is to break into this profession?” 

Mrs. Mellark glares at the tailor. “You don’t understand. Ha! You have some nerve. Accusing my son of voluntarily sleeping with your wife, murdering her. Making up all those lies about her being infertile.”

The camera operators are still in the room, fiddling with their equipment. I see Plutarch motion toward one to turn the camera back on and film the exchange. My mother-in-law doesn’t notice and continues her rant.

“Your wife was sick. She was getting sicker by the day. It wouldn’t surprise me if you were poisoning her slowly over time. 

Mrs. Mellark reaches past Delly pushing her out of the way to grab my arm. She positions me in front to act as a shield between her and the tailor. “And then when you heard Katniss was expecting, you decided to speed up the process and frame my son so that you could steal the heir to our family’s business. You’re the only one in District 12 that had a reason to kill your wife.” She rests her hand on my padded midsection for effect.

I am in the uneasy position of being hugged by my mother-in-law from behind. I struggle to free myself.

“You’re delusional,” the tailor sneers. He looks at everyone’s face, likely hoping to find a friend in this room. But even the least biased observers, Plutarch, the judge and the tailor’s own counselor seem to be considering my mother-in-law’s theory.

As I break free of her hold, I ponder my mother-in-law’s words. They make sense. After sitting through the scripted trial and listening to the theories of the audience behind me, I’ve never come to a definitive conclusion as to exactly how Mrs. Dresser died. Was it murder? All I know for certain was that her health was poor, and the bread Mr. Dresser gave to the Capitol to be tested contained uncooked, poisonous berries.

But I’d never considered the idea that Mr. Dresser had been slowly poisoning his wife over time. It would explain her rapidly, deteriorating health. 

But how could he do it without her noticing? Was he putting tiny doses of poison into her food? I think of the last time I saw the woman alive in her shop when she screamed at me to leave and the tailor offered to make her a cup of tea.

I gasp as the realization hits me. I think of the jar of crushed leaves that my mother gave to me to prevent pregnancy.

“You made her tea out of crushed sumac leaves,” I accuse him. “You were poisoning her for quite a while.”

He stares at me as if I’m crazy. “You can’t prove that,” he spits out.

“We’d have to dig up her body first and do an autopsy,” Haymitch says. 

Mr. Dresser looks startled at the victor’s comment.

“You delayed the funeral to make everyone think that the Capitol had performed one,” Haymitch continues. “But they didn’t.” 

Plutarch wears a look of excitement. “This could be a whole new show.” 

The tailor’s face gets red. “You have no right to make these accusations. If I don’t get justice tonight, I’ll take the matter to President Snow. I’ll tell him exactly what kind of people he’s dealing with.” 

“Oh shut up,” my father-in-law shouts. We all turn to stare at his outburst. “What’s all this about voting?” 

“Phone lines were set up to take votes from Capitol viewers,” Plutarch explains. “It’s like a national jury.”

None of us know what a jury is because court trials are completely foreign to us in Twelve, but still something rings false. Did Plutarch set up the phone-in voting system as an incentive to encourage Capitol viewers to watch the trial on television? To make them feel like they were part of the event, that they had some impact on its outcome? Because the mandatory viewing rules that exist in the districts don’t extend to the Capitol. 

“Will the voting change the outcome in the script?” I whisper, feeling as if my heart will break.

“No, no, no,” Plutarch reassures us. “The actual vote count doesn’t matter. The outcome of the script will stay the same regardless. But I think the end result will be right in line with public sentiment. Peeta is very popular among a large segment of our female viewers. He was just named the man most women would like to…”

Plutarch’s gaze falls to my belly and he stops. 

“Look, why don’t you all go home and get some rest,” he says. “Be at the platform by 5:30 p.m. And be camera-ready. Snow would like all of you on the platform when he gives his speech. And there will be lots of photos afterwards.” 

For the first time, I’m actually glad that the miner’s plan has been foiled now that I am expected to be sitting on the platform.

“I need to talk to Plutarch and a few other people,” Haymitch tells me, as Peeta’s family leaves. “Why don’t you go home and get some rest. Change your clothes. And don’t worry.”

I wonder how I’m going to get back to my house without being besieged by cameras. I consider asking for a Peacekeeper escort and then find myself giggling hysterically at the thought that I find myself in a position to appreciate them.

Before I am out of the Justice Building though, I spy Prim sitting on the bench near to the door.

“Katniss,” she calls out. 

I hug her. We’ve spent so little time together lately. “Were you in the courtroom today?”

“Yes. Mom didn’t come though. She wanted to stay with Leevy. After Gale’s arrest, Leevy collapsed. She’s a few months pregnant and Mom wants to keep an eye on her to be sure she doesn’t miscarry. Can we talk?” 

“All right. Come home with me.”

Prim and I go outside. Fortunately we’re able to avoid the camera at the base of the Justice Building. Reporters have cornered my in-laws there.

While we were inside, a gallows was set up close to the platform. I shudder at its sight, turning away and reaching for Prim’s hand.

The streets are unexpectedly empty of cameras and residents. We make it to my house without incident. 

“Oh Katniss, it’s beautiful,” Prim gushes. 

I remember then that Prim has never visited here. I’m ashamed at how quickly I’ve replaced my sister with my new life. This was the house Prim was going to move into if our mother had died as we both expected she would.

“It is nice,” I agree.

I unlock the door and Prim sees Haymitch’s additions to the decor.

“Oh Katniss.” Another moment of awe follows as she slowly walks through the house, peering into every single room. Her face is pink after looking into the room belonging to Peeta and I. 

“Do you like being married to Peeta,” she asks shyly. 

I bite my lip and my face grows warm as I nod my head. 

She comes into the living room and we sit down on the sofa. “I know you’re not really pregnant. Mom told me.”

I suspect it would shock Prim if I told her that our marriage hasn’t even been consummated. But I don’t. 

“She also told me some other stuff. Stuff about her and Dad.”

My heart pounds. “What did she say?” 

“She said that we were half-sisters. That she’d recently told you.”

I lean forward and throw my arms around her. “You’ll always be my one and only sister Prim.”

Prim pulls away. “But you’re also half-sister to Posy.” 

I shake my head. “I’m not. I just learned more. Something that even Mom doesn’t know about. And maybe we shouldn’t tell her about, ever.”

Prim’s eyebrows rise and her eyes get bigger as I tell her what Haymitch told me. When I am done speaking, she laughs. 

“You’re right. I don’t think we should ever tell Mom that story.”

We are quiet for a moment, lost in our thoughts when I voice the question that’s nagged at me for a while. “Who is your father?”

Prim smiles. “You’ll never guess. Rooba’s late husband.”

“The butcher’s husband? Prim, that means you’re a full-blooded Merchant.”

My sister grins. “It also means that Peeta is a cousin to me because Mr. Mellark was brother to Rooba’s husband. Mom said Rooba and her husband were willing to help because they admired Dad’s hunting skills. He used to sell meat to them.”

I study my sister’s face. Although both Prim and Peeta are blue-eyed blonds, I think they are more alike in temperament than appearance.

“It’s strange that I never even knew my blood father, but I feel a kinship of sorts,” Prim says.

I shake my head. “I haven’t allowed myself to feel anything. It seems disrespectful to Dad.” Besides how can I feel kin to Haymitch? If anything it worries me to think I am related to the victor with his drinking problem.

“But Katniss you can love more than one person at a time,” Prim explains. “Mom loves both of us. Why can’t I love two fathers?”

I never thought of it that way.

“I’ll never forget Dad, though,” Prim continues. “It might have taken a district to make us, but we’ll always be Everdeens.”

“I feel the same.”

“I guess that’s why Mr. Mellark wanted to keep me out of the Community Home since I’m related to him,” Prim says.

“Likely, but it could also be because Peeta’s mom spent some time in there as well. She was beat up in that place.”

“Mom told me about it last night while we watched the mandatory viewing. She helped Peeta’s mom at the time by providing poultices and healing ointments.”

And my mother-in-law repays my mother’s kindness by implying that she was adulterous. It boggles my mind.

“Do you think everyone knows about what Mom did?” Prim asks.

I think about my mother-in-law who must have found out through family gossip. “Maybe not everyone, but certainly a lot do.” 

But has it ever hurt us? No. If anything it’s broadened the number of people who are watching out for us. I just wish they’d provided some help when our father was killed in the mines.

There is so much more I want to talk about with Prim. Ask her if she knows about the upcoming rule change for The Hunger Games. But I keep quiet. I have enough to worry about for today and I don’t want to distress Prim. 

A knock on the door interrupts us. I groan, getting up to answer it. “Who’s there?” I call out before opening it.

“Octavia.”

I pull the door open and the makeup artist rushes in. “President Snow’s hovercraft just landed. He’s heading for the Mayor’s house. You’ll need to leave soon for the speech.”

She stares intently at me. “Your makeup needs freshening and you should change your clothes.”

She takes me into the bedroom. I sit on the bed and she fixes my face. Prim pulls out some of the outfits Cinna gave me that are hanging in the closet. Octavia declares an empire-style orange dress as being the nicest for the camera.

“It’s Peeta’s favorite color,” I mumble. 

“All the better,” Octavia says.

When I am declared camera-ready, Octavia puts some makeup on my sister, as well. I am astounded at how much prettier she becomes with her features highlighted. I remember thinking once that she’d make a beautiful tribute for Twelve. A shiver goes down my back. 

Fortunately Octavia interrupts my thoughts. “We need to go now,” she announces.

The three of us make our way through empty streets. In the distance we can hear noise coming from the square. People must already be making their way there to hear the president speak. Octavia helps push Prim and I through the crowd and toward the platform.

“It’s odd,” Prim notes as we keep close behind the makeup artist. “No women are here to listen to the president speak.”

Blond-haired men from Town and dark-haired men from the Seam, likely coming straight from the mines because their hair and faces are covered with a layer of coal dust, stand mingled together. Most are wearing jackets on this warm day. I suppose it’s an attempt to spruce up their appearance for this momentous event. 

Surprisingly they are even conversing with each other. It’s amazing the effect Snow has on District 12 to unite everyone.

Still it is curious that no women have elected to attend. 

Octavia leads us to the steps at the bottom of the platform. “Follow me,” she says. Prim and I climb the stairs. 

“Should I even be up here?” Prim questions when we reach the row of chairs set up behind the podium.

Octavia lets out a nervous laugh. “Yes. Haymitch wanted me to tell you that whatever happens, do not leave the platform. He can’t vouch for your safety if you are in the crowd below.”

Prim and I exchange a nervous glance. 

“What’s going on?” I ask.

Octavia gets an odd glint in her eye. “District 12 is taking back Panem for the rest of us.”

I want to ask her more, but she hurries down the stairs past Peeta’s parents and Delly and Beryl who are walking toward us.

“Where’s Rye?” I ask Delly. 

“I don’t know,” she whispers. “I haven’t seen him since this morning. And Beryl hasn’t seen Phyl either.” 

I wonder about the whereabouts of so many of the key participants in the trial. Haymitch is missing, as well as Plutarch, the judge, and the prosecutor. I thought everyone was supposed to be on the platform. Where is Peeta? Perhaps President Snow intends to trot them all out as part of his speech.

Only Mr. Dresser sits there at the other end of the long row of chairs, a smug look on his face. I imagine he’s mentally rehearsing his conversation with the president.

We don’t wait long. Over a speaker, loud music plays, announcing Snow’s entrance. The two cameras that are set up on the platform turn to the Justice Building as two Capitol citizens, likely high-ranking officials in Snow’s regime walk down the stairs of that building and onto the ramp that leads to the platform.

One has pink hair with black feathers sticking up from it to form a crown; the second man’s skin is stretched so tightly across his face that his eyes seem to have become permanently narrowed. 

Mayor Undersee comes next, followed by a couple of officials that work in the Justice Building, along with Cray, the Head Peacekeeper. Snow is the last to make his way onto the platform. He is dressed in a dark suit, which makes his trademark white hair stand out. He is flanked by two Peacekeepers carrying guns.

A loud round of applause begins as the president steps onto the platform. A tiny smile appears on his face. It gets larger and he’s soon beaming.

He walks up to the podium and taps the microphone gently, the sound resonating over the square. 

“My fellow citizens of Panem,” he begins. 

A loud scream interrupts his words. I jump in my seat startled as the man with the pink hair and feathers clutches his chest and shakes. His face contorts; he gags loudly, and then drops from his seat onto the floor.

Snow turns to give him a cursory glance before motioning the two Peacekeepers to remove his body. 

Without missing a beat, the president turns back to the assembled crowd and continues. “It is my pleasure to visit this charming, yet rustic district for the very first time.”

More applause follows. Even Snow looks surprised at the enthusiastic reaction. 

“The events taking place in your district these past few days, the smallest in all of Panem, have highlighted the flaws in our system. Twenty-five years ago, the districts called for a change to The Hunger Games, the limiting of children eligible to participate. It was deemed that only the youth residing in the districts’ Community Homes would be qualified to be tributes.

“In exchange, the districts approved an oppressive housing policy which has affected every family in every district. The events that have occurred in Twelve these past few weeks highlight this defective policy. That is why I come here today, to announce…

The Capitol official with the stretched skin groans loudly and drops to the ground. A dagger sits upright in his back.

Snow stops speaking mid-sentence, turning his head to look. And that’s when all hell breaks loose.

The assembly of men in the square opens their jackets to pull out weapons of all sizes, handguns, daggers, and even a few swords. While one or two Peacekeepers get off a couple of shots, a combined army of Merchant and Seam quickly subdues them. 

Cray shouts at the two Peacekeepers on the platform to shoot at the crowd. They leave the fallen Capitolites and hurry to the edge of the structure, aiming their guns toward the crowd below. But the officials from Twelve rush them, knocking them off the platform and onto the ground where they are attacked by the mob and their guns are confiscated.

I reach for Prim and we hold each other tight. Delly clutches Beryl’s hand and astonishingly my mother-in-law has jumped into my father-in-law’s lap and is holding onto him in terror. 

For the first time it dawns on me that the fire-breathing dragon that I so abhor is just as human, just as scared as the rest of us. It seems her only power lies in her ability to intimidate and bully those around her. 

A look of amazement appears on the tailor’s face.

“Where did they get the weapons?” Prim shouts at me because the tumult of war cries is too loud.

“I don’t know.” I am stunned that such a weapons cache exists in Twelve because it’s illegal to have anything that could be considered lethal. Even Rooba must have a special license to own the meat cleaver she needs to perform her job.

As the violent melee continues, Snow steps back from the podium. He pulls a small handgun from his breast pocket. Cray shouts for him to run to the Justice Building. But Mayor Undersee, who is already standing, springs forward blocking Cray. The mayor pulls a dagger from beneath his jacket and thrusts it into Snow’s chest. At the same moment the president pulls the trigger and shoots the mayor. Both men fall forward crashing into each other as they hit the floor. 

A look of horror appears on Cray’s face and he takes off running to the Justice Building.

Throughout this free-for-all, the camera operators continue to film. One camera is pointed to the actions on the platform, the others to the activities in the crowd. The events are being broadcast live to all of Panem. 

When Snow collapses, voices from the crowd shout “Snow is down.” Loud cheers break out.

During this distraction, the tailor, like a cockroach who is startled when the light switches on, jumps up from his seat, runs past us and down the stairs of the platform, and scurries away into the throng.

After a few minutes Haymitch climbs the steps to the platform. He bends over Snow and turns his body face up. He rests his hand to feel for a heartbeat. A satisfied smile crosses his face, then he steps around the body to reach the microphone.

He taps it a few times to get attention. The thump, thump, thump that sounds across the square causes a lull in the activities below. Heads are turned toward him.

“You’ve just witnessed history,” the victor says. “Twelve has come together to take out a dictator. To quote a very old book, “It’s good when brothers come together in unity.”

There is more cheering, but I have an uneasy feeling as I look upon the bodies of Snow and the mayor on the stage. The two officials that came with Snow are also down. One was stabbed. Was the other poisoned? 

Only a few Peacekeepers still stand in the square; they have no weapons and men from Town and the Seam surround them.

I fear the revenge the Capitol will take on our district for this heinous action. What’s going to happen to Peeta now? What about Gale and the other miners? Every man in the square who carries a weapon is guilty of death according to the Capitol laws. All of the men of Twelve could be slaughtered tonight.

Haymitch leaves the mic to come over to me. “It’s over. Go home with your sister.”

“What about Peeta? Snow never announced the verdict.”

“The whole trial was a joke sweetheart, a made-up show for the entertainment of the Capitol. The case would have been thrown out immediately in a real courtroom. I’ll get him out and bring him to you soon.”

“And Gale?”

“He and his friends will be released, too.”

“I can help the mayor,” Prim starts, but Haymitch interrupts her.

“He’s already gone.”

My eyes tear up. I was friendly with his daughter Madge when we were in school. I even visited her house a few times. He was a kind man.

“Don’t be sad. He knew the risk and he volunteered to be the one to do it.”

Prim sighs and turns to me. “I should head back to the Seam. You and Peeta will want privacy if you’re reunited.” She smiles knowingly, and my face grows heated at the thought.

All of us leave the platform together, Peeta’s parents and sisters-in-laws, and Prim. There is a lot of activity taking place in the square; bodies of some Peacekeepers are being carried away. Some of the men from Twelve have been wounded and I see Prim make a beeline toward two men on the ground. 

My mother appears out of nowhere with her medical bag. “I was watching on television with Hazelle and could see there were injuries, so I came.”

I offer to stay with my sister and mother as they tend the wounded but they both urge me to go home. 

I make my way home in shock. As I get onto my street a woman comes out of her house. She excitedly calls to me. “We’re free. Panem is free. The other districts are rebelling, too. Come inside and watch with me.”

I follow her inside her house to see her children, three little ones, surrounding a television. 

Claudius Templesmith is repeating the news that President Snow has been assassinated, and that fighting has broken out in every district in Panem.


	13. Chapter 13

I stay with my neighbor for several hours. Ana feeds me dinner, roasted beef so tender that it melts in my mouth, while we watch the television. She keeps her front curtains parted so I can keep an eye on my house to see when Peeta returns.

Her husband arrives a few hours later. His name is Ben and ironically he manages the apothecary shop that my grandparents once ran. He tells us that he was in the square with the other men at the time of the melee.

“Where did everyone get the weapons?” I ask.

“The owner of the Junk shop had them hidden away inside of a wall,” he explains. “They were from the Dark Days.”

“How was all this coordinated?” I am astounded that Merchant and Seam worked so well together.

“There was already a plan in place among some Merchants once we heard Snow would be here. We would be fools not to take the chance. But apparently some miners in the Seam had their own plan. When the ringleaders of that group were arrested last night, Haymitch Abernathy recruited the men in the Seam to join our plan. But we also had the assistance of some Capitol rebels.”

My eyes grow big. “What Capitol rebels?”

“Plutarch Heavenbee’s staff.”

Ben yawns and I thank his wife for her hospitality. Both of them invite Peeta and me to dinner at some future date. I go home. 

It’s dark and I wonder what is keeping Peeta. I take off my orange maternity dress. Peeta never even got to see me in it. I take a long shower, and crawl into bed.

I lay there guessing at where Peeta could be. For a moment, I panic wondering if somehow the Capitol has retaken the district and begun executing men in the square. But it is quiet outside. Surely it would be noisy if that were true.

I take some deep breaths and try to calm myself. Concentrate on Haymitch’s promise that it would all work out. Somehow I find myself drifting off. In the middle of the night I turn over and at first sense a warm body beside me. Then I hear it -- steady, even breathing. 

My hand goes out to touch a broad back, running along it until it rests on a naked hip. 

“Peeta. You’re here.”

In his sleep Peeta makes a squeaky sound, midway between a moan and a sob, and rolls over so that he faces me. He reaches his arm out and pulls me closer. I want to kiss him hard and have him kiss me back the same, but he’s still asleep. I wonder if he thinks it is a dream. I curl up into him, my lips next to his neck, and murmur, “I love you,” as sleep overtakes me. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Good morning,” Peeta whispers, tracing his index finger along my jaw and down my neck.

It tickles and I let out a tiny whimper as I open my eyes to see my husband leaning on his side facing me. His hair is messed and tiny bits of crusty sleep appear in the corner of his eyes, but he has never looked so handsome to me.

“I missed you,” he says.

“I missed you more.” I lift my head and kiss his lips softly. In one swift move, I push him onto his back and climb on top straddling him. “Let me show you how much I missed you.” I am lightheaded with giddiness, ready to consummate this marriage right now.

“Katniss you might want to stop.” He grins at me, laughter in his blue eyes. “Haymitch is in the next room.”

Immediately I roll off of him. “You brought Haymitch here? Why? He has his own house.”

“It was late and he said he’d been staying with you. I didn’t even think you’d be here. Haymitch said he told you to go home with your sister.”

“I did come home, Peeta. This is my home. Here with you.”

He smiles at me and tries to kiss me but I pull back.

“This is for us,” I say. “Wait until there’s no audience around to hear.”

Haymitch still sleeps while Peeta prepares breakfast. I stay in the tiny kitchen watching as he makes cheese buns.

“Do you have to go into the bakery today?”

“No. I saw my Dad yesterday after I was released. He told me to take a few days off and spend some time with you.”

“Can he manage alone then?” 

“I don’t think he even plans to open up today. Too much happened yesterday. There’s a meeting at the Justice Building this morning to elect a new mayor.” 

“The Peacekeepers are allowing it?”

Peeta frowns. “They’re not running things anymore. They found Cray’s body afterwards. It seems he shot himself. Probably thought he’d be held responsible for Snow’s death.”

I never liked the man, but it seems unfair somehow that he take the blame. 

“The other districts are rebelling as well,” I tell Peeta. “I watched the coverage at the neighbor’s house yesterday.”

“You’re making friends with the neighbors?” Peeta looks pleased. “I guess the overthrow of the Capitol has softened you up and made you sociable.”

I scowl, but he only laughs at me. 

“They have a television set. I wanted to see what was happening in the rest of Panem.”

“Maybe we should get one too,” Peeta says, staring at the dining room set through the doorway. “It looks to be the only thing missing since you’ve furnished the house in my absence.”

“It all belongs to Haymitch.”

“Well, he told me last night we could keep everything. He said it was a wedding gift.” His voice lowers. “He also told me about his connection to you.”

My mouth goes dry. I’ve never discussed anything about my paternity with Peeta. I’ve kept those secrets hidden in my heart.

Peeta puts the cheese buns into the oven to bake. He makes a cup of tea for both of us and we carry the mugs to the table.

Once we are settled, I take a deep breath and tell him everything. About my father’s infertility, my mother’s deception, Samuel Hawthorne’s change of heart, and Haymitch’s agreement. I even mention his own close relationship to Prim.

“Prim is my cousin?” His eyes widen. 

“I thought you knew. I thought that’s why your father was so concerned about her ending up in the Community Home.”

Peeta sets down his mug. “I didn’t know. I thought he wanted to save her because of your mother.”

He must see the confused look on my face because he explains that my mother and his father used to date. “My father told me once that he wanted to marry your mother but she ran off with a coal miner.”

I gasp, realizing from what Haymitch had told me that my mother was the sweetheart that my father-in-law lost. 

“Telling family secrets?” Haymitch asks as he joins us at the table. 

I glare at the victor.

“Secrets,” I repeat. “Tell me how you pulled yesterday off?” Surely his hand was all over everything. 

“What are you talking about?” Haymitch grunts.

“The neighbor said you recruited men from the Seam to join in a Merchant plan. Did you turn Gale and the other miners in?”

Haymitch stares at a spot on the table and doesn’t answer which admits his guilt to me.

“Why would you do that?”

“The Merchant plan was better thought out and would cause less death among the general population,” Haymitch says. “We had a huge element of surprise with that secret stash of weapons. The miner’s plan was a mess from the start. The Peacekeepers keep careful track of the mine’s inventory. Snow would have cancelled his trip as soon as he heard explosives were missing.”

“So why didn’t you convince Gale to join up with the Merchants.”

Haymitch snorts. “You’re dreaming if you think he would have done that.”

I think back to Gale’s rage the other evening. Haymitch is right. Gale was past seeing reason.

“And Plutarch was in on it, too?”

Haymitch laughs. “Cinna’s staff was, as well as the camera crew. Plutarch was informed at the very last minute. We needed him to know what to expect so he wouldn’t call “Cut,” in the middle of everything. We needed the event to be aired live across Panem exactly as it happened. Believe me, if we failed Plutarch would have denied any involvement. He’s only interested in taking actions that further his career.”

“And the men from the Capitol who died on stage…”

“Poison. We tried to poison Snow at the reception first, but he refused to eat anything. Can’t say I blame him after learning so much about poisonous sumac over the past couple of days.” 

Haymitch looks to Peeta. “I’m thirsty.”

Peeta stands. “Would you like some tea?” 

Haymitch grunts. “There’s no need to stay sober. Do you have anything stronger?”

“No,” I tell Haymitch. “You’ll have to go home if you want to drink liquor, although I really wish you wouldn’t.”

“Don’t think you can boss me around because we’re related. I won’t put up with it.” 

I think Haymitch teases me because he only seems mildly irritated.

Peeta leaves and returns with a mug of tea for Haymitch and a platter of cheese buns.

Haymitch picks up a bun, takes a bite, and yells, spitting out the bread into his hand. “This is hot.” 

“They need to cool still.” Peeta grins at me.

“Are you always this rude to guests or is this your way of telling me to leave?” Haymitch addresses Peeta.

“We’re grateful for your help Haymitch, but you should probably go home today.” 

“I was planning to. You have no booze here, no telephone, no television. Whatever do you do for fun?”

Peeta’s face grows pink and my cheeks grow warm as Haymitch stares at the two of us. “Forget I even asked,” he mutters. “Just be sure to name one of your sons after me.”

He gets up from the table leaving Peeta and I embarrassed.

After Haymitch packs up and leaves to return to his home in Victor’s Village, Peeta asks me what I’d like to do today.

“Go to the woods.”

Peeta looks troubled, likely thinking I would say “return to our bed.” I suppose he thinks I want to go to the woods alone; I haven’t been out there in weeks.

“I want to take you with me,” I explain. I have a plan in mind. Something I’ve been thinking about repeatedly during those long, lonely nights when I was staring at Peeta’s painting on our bedroom wall and wishing I could escape into that picture with him.

“Do you think it’s safe?”

“Probably safer than it is here in Town.” Without a television, I have no idea what is going on in the rest of Panem. I don’t know if the Capitol plans revenge on District 12 or not, although I suspect they might be too overwhelmed to target us just yet with fighting breaking out in all the districts. 

“I’ll pack some food and we can have a picnic, too,” Peeta suggests.

It seems like a dream to be so carefree, to have Peeta all to myself. Our pantry is full due to Haymitch’s generosity. Peeta makes sandwiches and packs up the rest of the cheese buns, placing them in a satchel, along a blanket for us to sit on. We lock up the house and set off. But getting to the fence is easier said than done.

We hardly get past our house when Ben stops us. He ogles my midsection eyes curiously. “What happened to your...” he stares at my flattened stomach area.

I forgot completely about the padding I’d been wearing since even before the trial. “I never was expecting.” I tell him. 

He shakes his head. I can tell he doesn’t understand, but I don’t feel like explaining everything now.

“This is my husband Peeta,” I introduce the two.

Peeta thanks him for his and Ana’s hospitality to me the previous evening.

“What’s happening in the Capitol?” I ask. “We don’t have a television.”

Ben grins. “It’s astounding. The government has completely folded. It seems Snow was just as unpopular there as he was in the districts. A woman from Two named Paylor has been appointed temporary president until real elections can be held. She’s already called for a ceasefire in the districts. In exchange, she promises to end the housing policy, do away with The Hunger Games, and even allow inter-district travel. 

I am astonished. The rigid, grim world I know is changed overnight.

Ben continues. “I just came from the Justice Building. Everyone in attendance voted in Lincoln Fide, Mayor Undersee’s former assistant to take over as mayor. A man from the Seam, Thom Dunbar, was voted in as his assistant.

That is certainly good news. It’s the first time anyone from the Seam has been given a position with some authority in District 12 in my lifetime. 

I even know Thom. He’s a friend of Gale’s, one of the miners he works with. He’s a diligent worker and a thoughtful person, although the last time I saw him, at Gale’s wedding reception, he was tipsy. But then nearly everyone was.

“Do you know what happened to the miners who were arrested?”

“They were released. In fact, Gale Hawthorne was the one who persuaded everyone to vote Thom Dunbar into office.” 

I’m glad to see that Gale is willing to work with the Merchants to better Twelve, instead of continuing to rail against them.

We say our goodbyes to Ben and continue in the direction of the square. We are crossing it when we bump into Plutarch. He’s accompanied by a camera operator. 

“We need to do an interview with the reunited couple,” Plutarch insists. “Everyone in Panem is in love with you two. You’re famous. The birth of your baby is going to be the highlight of the year.”

“I never was pregnant.”

Plutarch glances at my mid-section with big eyes.

“It was a ruse to keep Katniss safe,” Peeta explains. 

A confused look crosses his face. “Why would you need a ruse?”

When I don’t answer immediately, Plutarch lowers his voice and asks the camera operator to step aside. “Off the record, what’s going on?”

I guess it doesn’t much matter at this point. I don’t know if hunting will be illegal or not anymore. I give Peeta a glance, and he nods. 

“I’m a hunter. I supplied pelts and furs to the tailor. ”

“Is that a problem?” 

“Hunting is illegal in Twelve,” I explain. “The tailor threatened to tell the Peacekeepers. I could have been whipped for it or worse. But we thought,” I look to Peeta, “they’d be kinder to me if I appeared to be expecting.”

Plutarch shakes his head like he can’t believe the falsehoods we told to keep ourselves safe. “Well, maybe not anymore. Things are changing. We might be witnessing the evolution of the human race. So about that interview?”

“No chance,” Peeta says. “I’m not going to be a pawn in the Capitol’s hands any longer. I want my private life back.”

I stand back pleased at my husband’s firm declaration. 

Plutarch frowns. “That’s very disappointing.”

“Come on, Katniss, let’s go,” Peeta says as he grabs my hand.

We head out of the square toward the Seam and the meadow that lies beyond it to the place where the fence is loose and I can lift it up and crawl under.

We are soon in the woods. I stop at the hollow log and pull out my bow and arrows. 

“Are you planning to hunt?”

“Only if something crosses my path. Are you up for a hike?”

“Sure,” Peeta says. “I’ve been cooped up for too long.”

We walk for two hours, nibbling at the occasional ripe strawberries we find along the way. Eventually we reach the lake. My father used to take me here to catch fish. He even taught me to swim here. 

An old house, really a one-room building, stands near the edge of it. The structure has no electricity or plumbing, but the fireplace still works. A woodpile even sits in the corner that my father and I collected years ago.

This is the place I’d thought long ago to fix up and live out my days alone. Now that I’m here with Peeta, it’s obvious that it was a sad, barren existence that I envisioned for myself. 

After showing Peeta around, he spreads the blanket out onto the ground near a tree, and we sit down with a fine view of the lake. 

“Are you hungry?” he asks.

In perfect timing my stomach rumbles answering for me. Peeta pulls out the sandwiches.

When we are done eating, we lean up against the tree. I rest in the crook of Peeta’s arms, relaxing in the warm sun. A peaceful feeling washes over me, a sense that all is right in the world.

Peeta bends his head and kisses my temple. I twist my neck and then my body and am soon kneeling in front of Peeta, our lips locked together. 

We have kissed often enough that I am familiar with Peeta’s touch, the gentle way his teeth tug and then suck at my lips, his sweet exploration of my mouth, the tiny bite at the tip of my earlobe, the warm sensation of his tongue on my neck.

I find myself coming unglued. If he stops now, I swear I will kill him.

So when he pulls back, I’m ready to explode.

“Don’t stop Peeta. I want you. Right now.”

He throws me an embarrassed glance. “I need to tell you something first.”

The food sits heavy in my stomach.

“What is it?” My mind races to awful imaginings.

“I haven’t, I’m not, well, I don’t...”

Laughter bubbles up inside me as I watch my silver-tongued husband’s fair skin turn beet red as he admits that he’s as inexperienced as me. 

“I love you Katniss. I’ve been in love with you ever since I was little. I’ve always, only wanted you. And I had to be sure you felt the same. I didn’t want to force myself on you.”

“But couldn’t you tell I wanted to?” I exclaim. “All those nights we...” my voice trails off in embarrassment.

“You never said you did.”

“Well some of us aren’t so good with words,” I pout.

Peeta chuckles nervously. But then he grows solemn. “I didn’t want to do something wrong and hurt you,” his face goes red, “or disgust you. You’d only end up hating me and that’s the last thing I wanted.”

I sigh, wishing he’d told me all this before. “I don’t think you can do it wrong Peeta. And it’s not like I’d even know if you did. I love you too, but stop talking. We’ll figure it out together.

I throw myself at him and he surrenders. Soon enough our clothes fall away, along with my sense of modesty. Natural instinct takes over, a kind of hunger I’ve never experienced before. 

It’s tender and loving and decidedly awkward. A moment of sharp pain, then nervous laughter laced with loud sighs following the most exquisite pleasure. Afterwards, I’m sore, but surprisingly sated, lying in Peeta’s arms.

“I told you everything would work out for good.” Peeta grins. His shyness seems to have disappeared when his clothes came off.

I shake my head at him, getting up to jump into the lake to wash off. Peeta follows me. An impromptu swimming lesson quickly results in a frantic exit from the water to the blanket to begin a second round.

The sun is getting low on the horizon when I wake up from my nap. I untangle myself from Peeta, waking him up as well. “We should probably be heading back. We have a long walk and it will be dark soon.”

“Can’t we stay here?” 

Peeta has a good point. Why should we hurry home? We’re probably safer out here in the woods. 

“There’s still some food. I have matches, and there’s wood inside. We could start a fire in the fireplace.”

“Okay.” I stand up and put on my shirt. 

“You don’t need to bother dressing,” Peeta tells me. “I’m just going to take your clothes off again once we go inside.”

“A couple of rounds and you’re a regular Finnick Odair?”

He gives me a cheeky grin.

We gather everything up and carry it inside. Peeta soon has a fire going. We sit on the blanket and he pulls out a couple of the cheese buns he made that morning. 

As we hold them close to the fire to warm, it’s as if both of us suddenly have the same idea. When we pull them away, I put my bun out for Peeta to take a bite and he does the same with his bun to me.

“I like this toasting better,” I say, when we have finished eating.

“Why’s that?” 

I smirk at him. “Because you don’t have any clothes on.”

“Now who sounds like Finnick Odair?” he jokes as he removes my shirt. 

We spend the evening getting to know each other even better, dozing off from bliss and exhaustion, and then waking up and starting all over again. Peeta keeps an eye on the fire among other things, so that there is always some light in the tiny room. 

I’m mesmerized by the way the shadows dance across his body in the firelight. How could I ever have thought to regret marrying Peeta? I was a fool.

Eventually we wear ourselves out completely and fall asleep for good.

The fire has died out, but the sun’s first rays are entering the structure when we wake. My body aches not only from our passion, but also from sleeping on the hard ground. 

“We should go home now,” I tell Peeta. 

He agrees because we have no food left. We dress and begin the walk back. We’re quiet for a long while, each of us lost in our thoughts. 

After a while we begin to talk, hashing over the trial. 

I tell him about his mother’s verbal attack on the tailor, accusing the man of murdering his wife.

He smiles. “I would have liked to witness that. My mother actually standing up for me.”

How sad I think. I hope that this entire experience will change my mother-in-law’s relationship with my husband, but I have my doubts.

“I suspect Mr. Dresser poisoned her slowly with tea made of crushed sumac leaves.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth I make a mental note to make some of that tea my mother gave me when I get home.

“The Peacekeepers who guarded me also blamed him as well,” Peeta says. “They were even placing bets as to how he pulled it off. Maybe now, with Snow gone, there will be a real trial with him standing as defendant.” 

Peeta guesses that’s why the guards treated him so decently during his captivity, even allowing him to join them in the occasional card game.

I am glad to hear that Peeta wasn’t tortured or punished in any way. I hope those guards and the few decent Peacekeepers in Twelve can find a place in the new Panem.

“Let’s stop at my mother’s house before we head back to Town.”

Peeta agrees.

I shoot two squirrels before we reach the fence and stuff them into Peeta’s satchel. I also hide my bow and arrows in the hollow log. Despite the stockpile of weapons I saw yesterday, I don’t feel safe carrying it beyond the fence.

Fortunately my mother and Prim are home when we arrive, perhaps because it is still early.

My mother surveys the both of us and bites her lip trying to hide a smile. Prim grins and asks if I’ve been hunting. 

I hand her a squirrel. 

“We spent the night in the woods,” Peeta explains.

My mother offers us some tea and bread.

When Peeta excuses himself to use the bathroom, my mother whispers. “I can brew you some of that special tea.”

Heat rushes to my cheeks. “What do you mean?”

My sister laughs. “Oh Katniss, it’s all over your face and both of you have marks on your necks. And Peeta’s shirt is inside out.”

“Shut up,” I hiss, as Peeta returns.

He has wet down his hair to make it lie flat. I glance at his neck and to my chagrin, Prim is right. Did I do that? 

I quickly excuse myself to take a look in the bathroom mirror. It’s far worse than I thought. My appearance is wild, hair sticking up in every direction, bright eyes, flushed cheeks, blotchy neck, swollen lips.

My mother hands me a mug when I come out. “Drink all of it,” she warns. I take a sip of the bitter brew and screw up my face.

Peeta gives me a curious look. 

“I’ll tell you later,” I mouth.

Prim and my mother fill us in on the latest information while we eat. 

“There weren’t too many injuries in the melee that occurred when Snow was killed,” my mother says. “Most of the Peacekeepers gave up immediately when they saw they were outnumbered by armed men. The district plans to hire some to act as a local police force, but most are returning to Two where they came from.

“We heard about Cray,” I say.

My mother nods. “I’m not surprised about that. Someone in his position... it’s sad, but understandable.” She frowns. “The surprising death was the tailor.”

I lift my head in surprise glancing at Peeta.

“What happened?”

My mother sets her mug down. “No one knows for sure. Yesterday afternoon he was found behind his shop dead from stab wounds.”

“Who did it?” My lips are pursed from the disgusting, tasting tea.

“No one knows,” my mother says. “This kind of vigilante justice has occurred in Twelve before when people were convinced that a crime had been committed. Anyone paying attention to the trial could figure out he was the real suspect. But there are rumors that the tailor also had something of a reputation among married women in Town. So it could have been an angry husband.”

So I wasn’t his only target. I guess I’ll never know exactly what role, if any, the tailor played in his wife’s death, or even if he deserved to meet a similar end. But I’m relieved that I’ll never have to see that creepy man again.

My mother tells us that Snow’s body has already been sent by train back to the Capitol. Mayor Undersee was hastily buried in the graveyard yesterday. But already his grave is decorated with flowers. He is considered a hero to all of Panem.

She catches my eye as I choke down the last of the tea, which is the worst beverage I have ever tasted. “Drink every last drop Katniss.” 

I may be starting a family soon just to avoid drinking more of this brew.

“So what are your plans today?” Prim asks us. I detect a twinkle in my sister’s eye.

“I’m baking Katniss a toasting cake,” Peeta says. “I never made her one and it’s about time.”

Unexpected happiness surges through me. I forgot all about that silly cake, but Peeta didn’t. I guess, like me, he truly feels married now. 

“So it is time to celebrate,” my mother agrees. 

As we walk to our home in Town hand-in-hand, I marvel at our conversation of toasting cakes and flower seeds and whether or not to buy a television. Awed that Peeta’s words don’t frighten or bore me, but rather interest me greatly. 

I know now that no matter what happens in District 12 in the days and years ahead, we will face it together as a team. 

 

Epilogue

They play in the grassy area behind the bakery. The dancing girl with dark hair and blue eyes. The boy with blond curls and gray eyes, struggling to keep up with her on his chubby toddler legs. 

The apartment above the bakery is our home since her birth. Peeta’s father still helps out, but he’s retired now. He lives in our former house in Town. My mother-in-law joins him there when she isn’t touring Panem. 

Yes, the woman with the out-of-control temper who beat her children and bullied her husband because of her personal frustrations now tours the country with her brother Oliver, giving speeches on the importance of family. 

After Snow’s death, my mother-in-law gained national recognition when Plutarch, who was promoted to head of network programming with the ending of The Hunger Games and the retirement of Head Gamemaker Seneca Crane, made a documentary about the harsh life in Panem’s Community Homes. 

Mrs. Mellark’s rags-to-riches saga and her reunion with her brother who she hadn’t acknowledged ever since her move into the Community Home fascinated Capitolites who were likely curious about the impact of the housing policy on the districts.

While initially unhappy with all the attention, my mother-in-law quickly grew comfortable with it as her name was often paired with that of Finnick Odair, the most famous resident of the Community Home system. When she had the opportunity to meet him and speak alongside him she jumped at the chance. I think she might have a bit of a crush on the younger, handsome man.

She never apologized to any of her children for her abusive behavior. Whether she deserves it or not, the Mellark men have chosen to forgive and forget her actions, although they do tease her about the Capitol ways she’s adopted like her blue hair and the dolphin tattoo on her hand. I think they’re relieved, though, that she isn’t around much. As for me, I treat her like anyone else, but I will never allow my children to be alone in her presence, ever.

My father-in-law doesn’t mind their unconventional arrangement. He’s happier than I’ve ever seen him, spending his time between his grandchildren, and the bakery. He has seven grandchildren in total now, our two, Rye’s and Delly’s three, and Phyl’s and Beryl’s two.

My children have other cousins as well. Gale and Leevy have three sons. Prim and Rory, the husband she freely chose, have one. I think Rory would like more, but Prim is too busy as Twelve’s healer to consider expanding her family. My mother is semi-retired. She now works as Prim’s assistant. 

But it doesn’t matter how many children anyone has anymore in Panem or even if they choose to have children because the housing policy has been abolished. Private property rights have been restored. 

Everyone in Panem was granted ownership of the house in which they resided. Through a complex government loan plan, Merchants were able to purchase the businesses they operated from the districts. I think Peeta and I will be paying for the bakery for another generation. But it is ours to keep and it has value now should we choose to sell it. 

In fact, the changes mean that no family has a monopoly on a particular trade. Mellark Bakery is no longer the only bakery in Town. We have a couple of competitors. It makes us work all the harder to provide the best baked goods and best service. 

I am friends with the new tailor. After visiting Twelve to dress us for Peeta’s trial, Cinna along with his partner Portia, decided to make it their home. Although I don’t work at my former business, which is no longer illegal, I occasionally provide Cinna with fur pelts to line the garments he makes. 

The changes have also been beneficial to residents of the Seam. A medicine factory was built a year after Snow’s death to provide additional jobs. Some former miners have become Merchants themselves starting their own small businesses. 

The economy in that part of Twelve has prospered so much that Phyl says at least one woman from the Seam visits the grocery daily to buy a few packets of flower seeds. I guess they are proud of the homes they now own and want to make them look pretty.

Although we can now travel between districts and even the Capitol without restrictions few do. Most are content to try their hand at living and prospering in the district in which they were born. 

My old school friend Madge did choose to leave Twelve though, along with her mother, in the hopes of a quieter life. Being the only child of the man who assassinated Snow brought more notoriety than she and her mother wanted. Ironically they settled in the Capitol where her mother could receive the best medical care for her migraine condition, which worsened after her husband’s death. Last I heard Madge married a man from District 2.

Snow’s dictatorship has been over for years now, but the questions are just beginning. How can we avoid it from ever happening again?

Panem has worked hard to reach the place it now holds where all it’s citizens are considered equal. Order was restored in the districts within a few days of Snow’s death. Although some lives were lost, the main battle was political as government officials in both the districts and the Capitol struggled to create a new and better way of governing. Even though plans to overthrow Snow and bring freedom to Panem had been plotted for years by a variety of different groups, no one expected that Twelve with its divided populace would, even could, work together to start the spark that set the change into motion.

Honest and regular elections at every level of government helps to keep Panem safe now. But so does education. 

They teach about the assassination of President Snow and the overthrow of his dictatorship in the schools. The girl knows Peeta and I played a role in them. The boy will know in a few years. How can we make them understand the changes that have come about? Make them understand the limits once placed on our lives, the prejudices that once existed between Town and Seam.

Peeta says it will be okay. We can make them understand by speaking of the past and reminding our children that it takes constant vigilance to see that Panem doesn’t slip back into its old ways. We can make them understand in a way that will make them braver. 

But one day, I’ll have to explain about their family. That their bloodlines are not direct. That their grandfather wasn’t a rebellious miner who died in an explosion, but rather a participant in The Hunger Games who had to kill other children so that he could live. That the middle-aged man who still has his struggles with white liquor but is invited to all our family’s gatherings is more than a family friend, he’s their grandfather.

Only Prim and Peeta, and of course Haymitch, know my secret. I see no reason to tell my mother or Hazelle. They’d only get upset. And it is nice to be part of a larger family unit, even if Gale, Rory, Vick, and Posy aren’t truly related to me. It never hurts to have more people around who love you.

When Mr. Mellark and Peeta appeared on our doorstep in the Seam that night so many years ago, I never would have suspected that his unusual offer and my desperate actions would inadvertently work together to change the face of Panem. It’s remarkable what the desire to protect your family can accomplish. It can topple even the most seemingly permanent and established order. 

 

THE END

 

Thank you to everyone who read this story, especially to those who took the time to review. I appreciate your interest in this altered version of District 12. Special thanks goes to ETNRL4L for, in her words, “pimping out this story,” on her tumblr site as early as last summer when it was only a teaser for Fandom4LLS. I appreciate your generous publicity my friend. Thanks also to those who reblogged her posts.

So now that I’ve uploaded the last chapter and epilogue, I’m back to writing the remainder of a Pioneer!Everlark tale set in Nebraska Territory in 1860. I apologize to readers who have been waiting so patiently for the posting of this promised story that I began writing last fall. I got caught up in the writing and editing of It Takes A District and had to put it aside. However, now I can give it my full attention and finish it. (If you didn’t already know, I like to have my stories completely written before posting.)

One final word, I am also a writer of original fiction. I’ve self-published a YA sports fiction e-book called See Andie Run by M.T. Kearney through Amazon’s Kindle Store. It’s a story about a sixteen-year-old girl who trains and runs her first marathon. You can read the first chapter for free (or the entire book for free if you participate in the kindleunlimited program). Check it out if you're interested.


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